TORN
by Kayo-Chann
Summary: "It's standardized dress for Death Eaters.  I think it's to scare people away.  Make us seem less human."    Oliver Wood had no idea what he was getting himself into, but he couldn't care less.
1. Prologue

**T.O.R.N.**

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**Prologue**

"The family is out of favor. The family is out of favor. The family...promise me you'll restore the Black family. Promise me, Belladonna."

It was uncomfortable, the mark on her forearm. She twisted and writhed in the sweaty sheets, but each turn that was made forced an more pained chill than the last. It was late; nearly midnight, and Belladonna was exhausted; a cruel punishment for her terrifying mistakes. After moments of realizing that sleep would not be coming tonight, the girl sat up and focused her glaring eyes at the door of her room. There was a thin slice of light peeking into the darkness beneath her door, and the mere notice of it had Belladonna more on edge every second. She abandoned her bed and found herself lurching toward the curtains of a large window.

A hazard sigh escaped her lips. Her long, pale fingers grasped the curtains heavy fabric in an almost injured hold and she thrust them back to reveal the fullness of the moon. Her next sigh came shortly after, this time sounding needy and helpless. She leaned as close as possible to the glass and studied what little she could see in the remote darkness.

The moonlight slanted over her face and cast a sickly tone to her overly pale complexion. She looked evil; dreadful, in fact, and yet devastatingly blissful. A thin smile slowly spread itself over her face; haunting eyes sliding shut; fingers waning closed in a horrifying grasp around the curtain. She was lost in herself – lost in the realization of what she was – and found it rejuvenating.

Slowly, she released her grip from the dark fabric and reinstated it around her arm, just atop the mark she had been branded with only months before. She would prove that the Black family still had favor; after all, her aunts did. She would not let her filthy blood traitor mother ruin her chances as a Death Eater. Another sickly smile curled her lips upward, and her eyelids finally slipped over her dark orbs, recalling the somewhat recent words her aunt had whispered to her.

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"...once you are mad, you stay as such. You can't redress your sanity. Once you are out of favor, you will always be out of favor. Just like your filthy mother," the voice turned crueler and crueler, now exhibiting a nasty display that chilled Belladonna to the bone, "Do not fall out of favor, girl. Don't be stupid like my sister."

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**This, folks, is my OTHER new story idea. It involves the viewing of a darker side of the HP series...and also the pairing of a particularly hot Quidditch star. But I'm gonna warn you all now - this is a different take on Oliver Wood (a truer take, if you ask me). If there's one thing I despise, it's reading a story where the main character is OOC, and sadly when it comes to Oliver Wood, this happens quite a bit. So I'm working on honing my skills and trying to portray him as he is, and not some haughty, arrogant Quidditch bloke that so many people think he is. **

**Leave a review if you'd like~! ^_^**


	2. Of The Nastiest Circumstances

**T.O.R.N.**

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**Chapter One**** | Of The Nastiest Circumstances...**

Harry Potter's face stared at me. The paper in which it was branded was old and yellowing, torn at the edges from constant handling. I set my hard eyes upon his, and was unsurprised to see the blankness that radiated from him. It had been taken just after Dumbledore's death – only a few months after, actually – and it was blatantly obvious that Harry was undergoing a sorrow that was not easily quenched.

I wasn't entirely sure what to think of it, and focused on the background of the image to distract me. The courtyard of Hogwart's played out behind him. Looming arches could just be detected in the corner of the right side, but other than that, no sign of the glory and might of the school was seen. There was hardly anyone I recognized around him, either. Hermione Granger wasn't in sight, which had at first surprised me. Even his best mate Ronald Weasley was not there. The only face that looked a bit familiar was the round faced boy named Neville Longbottom, and I didn't linger on his person for long.

I had a horrible feeling that the pain in Harry's eyes would remain there for a long time still, and finally couldn't bare looking at him any longer. With a flurry of anxiety, I shoved the old newspaper back into the drawer of my desk, where it would stay for weeks before being searched for again.

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"You have no idea what you're getting into, do you?" Narcissa Malfoy whispered. Her voice was near silent, and had an undertone of utter terror and disgust. Her bright eyes were staring at me, and I didn't bother shifting under her gaze. It would be pointless, and I was not going to risk my 'noble' title by squirming like a child. I was a Black, not a filthy _Malfoy_.

Speaking of said family, they were all assembled around me, but Narcissa was the only one who looked at all concerned for my safety, which I found completely confounding. My cousin was gazing from the door – the dreaded door, which was, at this very moment, housing the very embodiment of our fear – to me, face twisted in a seemingly indifferent expression that was under laced with horror.

My voice was cold, as always, and confident. I twirled my wand around my fingers and curled my lip into a nasty snarl, "Do not suppose, for one second, that you have an inkling of what's really going on here, Narcissa," I spat, face contorting even more with each word, "The Malfoy family is just as tainted as the Black, if not more. There are certainly just as many traitors."

The blonde woman didn't seem to like that at all. Her eyes darkened with fury and she raised a hand that I was all too aware of. But, to my hidden relief, her husband cut her off.

"He is waiting."

Lucius didn't need to elaborate. Immediately, each of us straightened, similar thoughts and hopes passing through each of our minds. I tore my gaze from my aunt's face and studied the large door on the other side of the room. He was behind it, with the others, and we had already wasted enough time in our little spat to make his tempter flare. It would be wise not to linger.

I was the first to make a move, and sauntered over to the doors. Before I pulled them open, I gazed behind me and smirked, paying close attention to the annoyed way Narcissa's mouth formed a repulsed scowl. I slipped into the room without another glance and immediately everything went silent. I felt eyes on me, and I returned each look with my own, before resting my eyes briefly upon the cloaked figure at the head of the table. Just as quickly as I had searched for him, I backed away, head bowed respectfully as I addressed him.

"My Lord..." I murmured, voice soft with reverence, "Please allow me to apologize for keeping you."

He did not respond, and I found it acceptable to glide from my bow over to the nearest chair in which he gestured.

"I see my niece has finally decided to grace us with her presence," Bellatrix said, and her eyes narrowed dangerously in my direction, "I suppose we're not as important as those outside?"

At the moment, the Malfoys came through the door, and I barely shed them a look before dryly responding, "...Hardly."

I was not surprised to find that my sarcasm was ill taken. No one even cracked a smile, and I supposed I should keep quiet until absolutely needed. The Malfoys too uttered no sound. As fast as possible they took their seats, a ways down from the head of the table – and myself, as I was only about five seats from the Dark Lord. The blatant noise of their chairs scraping the mahogany floors nearly made me flinch.

I cast Draco a glance, for I appreciated him a bit more than his parents, and he returned it with an appraised look. I had to remind myself that he was nearly five years my junior and I shouldn't let him phase me, regardless of the stupid pride he seemed to immerse himself in. I was simply confounded he was still able to carry himself so highly when he was so wounded. The mission that he had failed to do was certainly costing his family. They were already falling out of favor; any more mishaps and they'd be forever shunned.

I was so entangled in my inner ponders that I nearly missed the words that the Dark Lord spoke. I caught on just when he mentioned my name, and in no time flat realized exactly what he was speaking of.

"Yes, my Lord," I venerated, responding silkily to his question, "I had everything planned so far. Since the Ministry has been infiltrated, things will begin to go much smoother."

I watched in apprehension as his fingertips formed a web of long digits. He rested his pale chin upon them and didn't lift his gaze from me as he said, "I certainly hope so. I trust, Belladonna, that you will not make any...mistakes."

I felt a sickening quench in my stomach, and stoically inclined my head. He was referring to the Black family's few rebels, Sirius and Regulus Black, my uncles. But I was not like them, not on the surface at least. I had a job to do; I couldn't be completely like them right now. I was so busy worrying about my plan failing that I missed the smirks that flashed over my aunt Narcissa and her husband's face.

That voice spoke again, and all our eyes were cast upon his dreaded features. I listened closely, but found him words suddenly boring. He was speaking now to one of the lower Death Eaters – one who helped at the Ministry. I entertained myself with studying the faces of various others sitting across from me at the long, blackened table.

There were shadows on most everyone's faces. Eyes were cast downward in humility, seemingly venerating the presence of the Dark Lord. A sense of horror radiated from each, save perhaps the callous figure of my aunt, who was seated a few chairs down from her master and looking quite exhilarated as she listened with rapt attention. There was nothing that could be compared to the disgusted lurch that quelled my lower body at the sight, but I smartly choose not to linger. As a rule, Bellatrix Lestrange didn't much like me, or any of the Blacks for that matter, and so I usually kept to myself when around her.

The only person that I felt any gratitude for was a certain old professor that sat at the Dark Lord's right hand side. His face was worn – wrinkled, even – from constant worry and anxiety. He was, at the moment, staring at his pale, clasped hands. They rested on the hard wood surface, and he didn't rise to meet my gaze, though I knew he felt it upon him. To say that my old Potions professor looked good was a downright lie. I mean, to me, he always looked healthy, in a Slytherin type of way. But then again, that was years back – four, in fact – and the years had not done him well at all. He looked older than he should have, and that worried me a little.

I didn't keep my eyes on his features for more than a few seconds. Training them to the table, in the same fashion as every one else, I tightly clutched my hands together beneath the wood and listened carefully to the words being spoken.

"...Already took over the main part. We're working on outing the Mudblood extension sections though. Figured they shouldn't be needed any longer..."

He was speaking of the 'improved' Ministry, I surmised, and decided I needed to pay more attention. For some reason, my mind kept getting lost within itself tonight...

Yaxley spoke up then, explaining what the lower follower could not. His scratchy voice accounted the events going on in the Ministry, and how he placed an Imperius curse upon Pius Thicknesse and was apparently working on Thicknesse's rise to Minister of Magic. There was a collective inhale of breath at that point, for it was indeed a prideful task, and many eyes flew to the Dark Lord's figure to see his reaction.

But he merely sat there, hands still clasped in a tight, frozen spell as he gazed languidly toward Yaxley. He was not disappointed, I deduced, otherwise he would have created a one-sided brawl that would have left poor Yaxley cowering in his seat.

"Are you...are you displeased, my Lord...?" came Yaxley's suddenly tamed, almost dismayed voice, and I found myself wishing he'd speak like that more often, for it was much less disturbing.

Voldemort finally let his grasp loosen, and his fingers lightly hit the table's surface. He surprised us all by standing up, in a sweep of pitch black robes, and floating past the line of his loyal Death Eaters until he appeared directly behind Yaxley. I was glad that Yaxley was sitting on the other side of the table from me.

"No...I am not angry at you, Yaxley," came his terrifying, misty voice, and I watched with hidden dread as spindly, pale fingers wrapped themselves around his servant's shoulders, "You ought to understand that anything done in the good of my name will be praised."

He was watching me, now, and I didn't like it one bit. Surely I hadn't done anything to corrupt my image lately? I mean, there were a few incidents a while back, but those were long forgotten, weren't they? He must have just been warning me. After all, he had given me a daunting task, and if I messed it up, there would be hell – and maybe even death, God forbid – to pay. Not like I wasn't used to hell anyway. It practically ruled my life, what with me being a Death Eater and all.

I slowly inclined my head toward my Master. Once again, I missed the smirks that flashed momentarily across each of the Malfoy's faces.

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**It's different, hmm? Send me your love through reviews~! =D **


	3. A Silly, Silly Mistake

**Chapter Two**** | A Silly, Silly Mistake**

"Bloody git, he is, honestly," I blabbered, throwing random cuss words here and there to exonerate my speech. For it was, after all, a highly important one that needed to be said aloud. I had decided long ago that everything I said was important and should be treated as such. Unfortunately for me, the man whose company I was currently in did not, under any pretense, look interested in what I had to say about the stupid, _stupid_ goat of a man, Lucius Malfoy. I had a feeling it was because Severus already _knew _exactly what Malfoy was like and therefore didn't need to be told. But when I needed to talk, I couldn't be stopped, and so my old professor merely picked up the pace and didn't _try _to stop me.

He was supposed to be the one doing the talking, briefing me on what I should inform the Order and how I should say it, but as it so happened, I already knew exactly what my purpose was this evening. Severus Snape, genius as he was, could do nothing but allow my irregular speech patterns. Irregular, because I hardly ever talked in front of others in such a free manner. I trusted Snape with my life, and so, I supposed, that fact allowed some breathing room between us that was not there in any other's company.

It did not take long to reach the street in which the Order was currently residing. We had stopped using the Noble House of the Blacks – I inwardly scoffed at the ridiculous, un-perpetual title – and now traded our meetings between various member's houses instead. It mattered not, though, because we hardly had meetings anymore due to the influx of events going on. Everyone was doing what they could to stay alive and the meetings were unnecessary unless in dire consequences. Tonight was not, in any way, a dire consequence. We did like to have meetings once in a while, just to make sure we were all accounted for.

I was just about to take a step into the road when Severus' hand gripped my upper arm and dragged me back into the shadows.

I glowered up at him and tore my arm back as he scolded me, "You can't just go walking around like that, Belladonna. Be more careful."

My responding growl was equal to his, "No, _you _can't go walking around like that. Might I remind you that I'm still welcome at the Order, Severus?"

His upper lip curled distastefully at the sound of his first name, uttered so callously and intimately from my lips, and he released his grip on my arm, "What did I tell you about calling me that? It's _Professor Snape_, Black."

I merely smirked and shrugged, feeling free from him as I replied, "Oh, back to last names, I see. Fine, I'll call you Snape, but don't expect anything more. You are not my Professor, _thank God."_

He scowled at me and turned his back to my figure. While he was facing the other direction, he muttered two things. One was, in my opinion, a very well thought out curse word that I immediately added to my mental list. The other remained much more important.

"Spinner's End. Tell me everything you learn after the meeting," and with an unexpected, but no less startling pop, Severus Snape was gone.

I merely rolled my eyes and murmured, "Such a dramatic old fool...honestly..." before continuing on my way toward the mussy little shack that the Weasley family shared.

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It didn't take very long to reach the protective enchantments circling the home. Before I had even reached the threshold, about a dozen wands were pointed at me and determined, yet somewhat relieved, faces were gazing at my figure.

A familiar voice I had not heard in months spoke up, and I smirked at the sound of my closest living relative, "Where were you and what were you doing during the night of my tenth birthday party?"

I heaved a sigh and muttered, "Honestly, Nymphadora, you had to choose the most outlandish question, didn't you?"

I wasn't looking for a response to that, but I got one anyway as wands were uplifted silently. I rolled my eyes, "Fine, fine. For God's sake, I swear you're trying to ruin me... On the night of your tenth birthday party, I, Belladonna Lilith Black was – indiscreetly, I might add – attempting a mass prank involving swarms of little beetles and your mattress, dearest sister. And might I go on to say that it did _not _work because you decided to be a silly prick and go tell on me. I still hold a grudge against you, by the way. Cake was good, though, perhaps the only redeeming feature. Really, Nymphadora, you don't know how to throw a party at all-"

My lengthy speech was cut off by two arms lurching around my waist and my half sister's relaxing laugh drifting into my ear, "Oh shut up, you – I was bloody ten years old, you prat. And don't call me Nymphadora," I supposed she added that for good measure. I never listened to her anyway.

"And what a warm welcome I get," came my drawling reply, but nonetheless allowed my arms to wrap around her and return the affection. It was probably the only form of it I got, save the love from my mother and step father. I allowed my sister to drag me inside the cosy house and greeted the other members as they meandered in after us.

To Remus Lupin I sent an especially fair smile, solely because he was the husband of my beloved sister and was quite deserving of such a title. He nodded to me and stood beside his new wife, who was now gazing at my pale face with a slightly worried expression.

"Oh, dear! Belladonna, darling, sit down, please!" came the overly warm voice of Molly as she rushed into the room. She scurried to conjure up another chair – there were already a good dozen thrown haphazardly about an elongated table – and all but pushed me down into it before running into another room and disappearing from my view.

I shook my head, "Bloody crazy woman, she is, but God I love her..."

"Talking to yourself again, Donna?" came a pair of matching voices I wished not to hear at the moment. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, putting on my best scowl that could rival that of Salazar Slytherin himself.

"Really, _darling_," one said, mimicking his mother's higher tone as he placed himself in the seat beside mine, "It's a sign of insanity, but I'm sure you already know that."

I did, in fact, know that quite well, but chose to remain silent about the matter. I'd seen my share of Cruciatus victims to understand such a word. Sometimes, I even felt as though I was going insane myself.

"Fred, George, you two shouldn't be down here," Arthur's voice spoke up, and I opened my eyes just in time to see a hot bowl of soup being lowered before me. I smirked – one that nearly turned into a smile had I not stopped it – and thanked Molly before digging in. I simply adored her for her unbeaten hospitality. She truly had the kindest heart I knew. I had to admit, as well, that such a thing was especially hard to come by in my line of work.

"Bella?" came my sister's voice, and I glanced up at her during the same moment I bit into a piece of bread.

"...Wha?" I asked, sounding a bit groggy, and chuckles emitted from the ever cheerful twins as they vacated their seats and moved into another room.

"Are you...alright?" I noticed that she was wringing her hands. It was a sign of uneasiness, I knew, and understood exactly what would bring about such a question. I knew I didn't look very good; it had been four years since I attained my Dark Mark – since I became a full fledged Death Eater – and I looked nothing like the smarmy, arrogant, and vainly pretty young woman from my seventh year at Hogwarts. My curly, once luxurious black hair had lost its bounce and shine; my eyes, their previous spark; my skin, its former softness. I was gaunt, and I was pale, and I was anything but beautiful. The only thing I didn't understand was why she was asking me this now, of all times. It was hardly important, and my appearance had been like this for years now. It had probably shaved off a good few years of my _future_, not like I had much to live for anyway.

I swallowed the bite of bread and stared at her, unreadable expression latching itself into my eyes as I recalled exactly _why _I had become such a hollow shell. My motives were silly, really. They all centered around making the Black family proud, and serving the Dark Lord like my father and aunts. My mother and her stupid side family didn't make any difference, of course – they had only fueled my desire to prove myself to the Dark side. I hoped to capture the fear of every human, Wizard and Mudblood alike, and I knew that could only happen with the Dark Lord's assistance. I remembered feeling so free, so exhilarated, after I had received my Mark. My father would have been proud, I had been told. I immediately left my house and went to live with my Aunt Narcissa, who I believed understood me more than my filthy, blood traitor of a mother. I had wanted nothing to do with her or her rebounded family. They had made me sick.

It hadn't been until I had first faced the Dark Lord's wrath that I wanted out. I had done something terrible – defied the Master – and thrown the Black name into an even greater turmoil. I had been frightened and confused and all too young to understand why no one would save me from the curse that was so heavily thrown upon me. I hadn't known, at the time, that there would be more. More times I would mess up and earn another punishment – another wringing out. I supposed I had been a mess for years now, and either Nymphadora had only just realized due to the happiness she had encountered, or had seen all along but chose to remain silent.

I hadn't a clue what to say to her, so I allowed what I hoped was a plausible smirk to etch it's way across my face. My sister's eyes were the epitome of worry, probably from my silence.

"It's nothing I can't handle," I answered her confidently, and returned to my meal as though I hadn't eaten in weeks. But we both knew it wasn't an issue of whether or not I couldn't handle it, because I would be forced to either way. After all, once you got in...there was no getting out.

Suddenly, chairs were being moved and people were beginning to sit down in them. I concluded that it was time for the meeting, and politely pushed my makeshift dinner away from me as Shacklebolt began speaking.

"Now that we have all settled down," he nodded to me before continuing, "I think it would be wise to begin. I have a bit of information I'd like to share before I give the floor to Miss Black."

If there was one thing I liked about Kingsley Shacklebolt, it was his sense of propriety and honor. I sat back in the chair and listened closely as he spoke.

"As you all should have heard, the Ministry of Magic has indeed fallen into the hands of he-who-must-not-be-named. There has been an influx of Death Eater's into the Ministry and," he took a breath, "they are currently working on ways to overpower Muggles and half bloods. Anyone who isn't pure, it seems."

Kingsley went on to explain the rest of the events transpiring, for those who didn't hear about them, before turning to me and gesturing with his hand for me to speak.

I didn't move from my straight-backed position in the chair – I supposed I was too used to sitting in certain way before the Dark Lord – but no one seemed to noticed my discomfort. I glanced at each face before starting in a low, urgent voice, "Before I begin, I'd like to say that Shacklebolt is completely right. The Ministry is, in fact, under the influence of the Dark Lord. Pius Thicknesse – the new Minister of Magic – is currently under an Imperius curse, but they're planning on replacing him soon. All the talk about Mudbloods and –" I stopped here, at first not realizing why everyone was casting aggravated glances at me, and then realizing my mistake, "Er...sorry, _Muggles _and Half Bloods is true as well. I'm going to the Ministry tomorrow to get a few new leads on the location of Potter – though I doubt I'll find anything – so I'll have more to say on the matter during the next meeting."

My mention of the Boy who Lived seemed to be an avid topic here, not like I was surprised, and noticed a few glances thrown around the room at the sound of his name. I chose then to speak up, "...So...how is Harry, then? And Ron, of course, and Hermione...?"

I knew they were all together, as did Snape, though where they were and how they were faring were both questions I had no answer to.

There was a collective sigh around the room.

"We don't know, really," Arthur said, turning his saddened eyes to me, "Haven't seen them since Bill and Fleur's wedding. But I think they're alright, wherever they are. So long as they're together."

His words seemed to give everyone at the table a breath of fresh air. I found myself almost _smiling_, for heaven's sake, before I was once again reminded of the gravity of my life and shook the happy feeling. I wasn't _supposed _to feel happy; I wasn't supposed to feel anything but suffering for what I did to those I once loved – _still _love.

The conversation, after that, took a turn for the better. After everything involving the Dark Lord and such was spoken about, inquiries began sprouting up involving the health of each person's family and friends. It was nice to speak about things that for once were not at all centered around death and gore. I found myself nearly smiling more than once before the clock had struck midnight.

When it did strike the hour, though, I immediately sobered up and realized I had to leave. I wasn't the first to go – others had departed before me to put children to bed or go to sleep themselves. When they had left, however, the table hadn't turned completely silent.

I rolled my eyes at their drama and sighed, "Snape's waiting for me. I'm to meet up with him after the meeting and inform him of what's going on," I shrugged, and added safely, "Don't worry. I won't tell him anything critical."

My words seemed to put most everyone at ease and Molly rose from her seat to give me one last farewell hug, "Stay strong, dear. We're always here for you if something goes wrong."

I nodded, but did not answer her back, because I knew that if something were ever to go wrong, I wouldn't be coming here: I probably wouldn't get out alive at all...

I had just made it out the door and into the yard when a hand enclosed itself around my upper arm, for the second time that night. I decided I hated it when people tried to stop me from walking...

"Belladonna, be careful at his house," my sister's voice recommended. I glanced over my shoulder to see her standing behind me, eyes wide with worry. Remus was standing inside the house, by the door, and it struck me that he didn't trust me. But then I realized I wouldn't have trusted me either and I didn't feel as offended.

I focused my attention on Nymphadora's face and responded, "I've been doing this for three years, Dora. You don't need to tell me to be careful. I can look after myself."

She knew she wouldn't be getting anything more through my somewhat thick head and so instead of speaking, enveloped me in a sweet hug. I hugged her back, enjoying the last bit of warmth and hoping it would get me through the next few months.

"If you can, visit mum," Nymphadora suddenly murmured, pulling away to look at me, "She misses you."

I nodded slowly, a light, airy smile making it's way onto my face. It only ever smiled in my sister's presence. She had told me before that it made me look younger, more reminiscent of my school days, and I had laughed at her. But as I stood there, smiling at her, I _felt _younger, and happier, if only for a moment.

She smiled at me, as well, and hugged me again, this time more tightly, before pulling away. I moved my gaze from her to Remus, who was now watching me with a softer expression, as though I was more human in his eyes now that he had seen my smile.

Before walking out to where the protective enchantments wore off, I turned to my sister once more and murmured a soft, "Congratulations, by the way...on your wedding. Lupin's a right nice git, if you ask me."

And without waiting for her answer, I walked off without a backward glance.

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**Thanks for reading! The next chapter probably won't be on for a while. But I have really good ideas for this story, so I'm definitely going to be writing a lot of it. I just...can't guarantee that I won't be a lazy ass XD**

**Review for moiiii!**


	4. The Task The Should Have Been Daunting

**Chapter Three** **The Task That Should Have Been Daunting**

I really wasn't sure what had commanded me to wear such frivolous attire on such a chilly day. I supposed it was the superior ranking I carried on my shoulders. One thing I had to admit was that I looked damn right _good_. A black fur cloak was slung easily over my shoulders, clasped together with a pure silver broach at my neck. It was no surprise that the broach was in the shape of a snake and had green emeralds serving for eyes. I quite liked the jewelry, actually; it made me feel regal...like a true Slytherin. The cloak wasn't doing a very good job of hiding my other clothes, as it was thrown over my shoulder in such a manner. My silky black dress was a huge contrast to the thick material of the fur. The lace that trailed at the bottom of the cloth nipped around my knees in the most delicate of ways. The only thing that prevented it from actually touching my skin was the leather that made up my high boots, which traveled all the way up my shins and stopped only when they had reached the bottom of my knees.

I seemed the epitome of style today, and knew I had to look it. My dark eyes were focused solely on the door that I walked toward, narrowed and frozen and hardly showing any of the green I knew they possessed. The two Death Eaters that followed me kept a few steps behind, showing everyone that I was, in fact, more important than them. I recognized a few people on my way into the Ministry. I spotted Shacklebolt at the doors, and Arthur in the lobby, but thankfully there was no one else to make my entrance a distraction.

"Come," I spat, glancing with angered eyes at the two men following me, "We're wasting precious time."

I floated into the elevator and the other two scurried in after me, watching as I languidly took hold of one of the railings. Not two seconds after I did, a familiar lurch made itself present and the contraption skidded upward.

Only a minute later, and after a jolted stop that sent the two men ramming into me, we had reached our destination.

"Get off of me, you fools," I raged, dusting myself off. After picking the last non-existent piece of dust from my fur-clad shoulder and sending each man a malevolent glare, I lightly stepped from the compartment and began walking through a familiar hallway. I had been down this way before, many times. Before I could remember, my aunts had brought me here time and time again to show me the 'might and splendor of the wizarding world'. Of course, they had gone on to explain how much better it would be if Mudbloods weren't a part of it...

I didn't stop until I had reached the thick door that signaled the end of my companions journey. I glanced back at them, face contorting in a scowl, and ordered, "Stay here. I'll be out in a moment."

Long fingers clutching the edges of my fur cloak in a zealous grasp, I let myself into the room in which the new Minister would be sitting.

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The sound of the reinforced door snapping shut indicated my presence to the others in the room. Eyes suddenly began sizing me up, voices stopped, and a big, burly man made his way toward me. I hardly had any time to look around before my hand was suddenly being captured and shaken so hard I thought it was going to fall off.

"Mr. Aldry, contain yourself," came a voice I immediately wished away. The elder Malfoy was standing a few feet away, sneer upon his face as he watched the ghastly display, "Surely you have met Miss Black before...?"

It was indeed true, though I hated to be reminded of it. Mr. Aldry was a man who had worked for the previous Minister. He was a secretary of sorts, and I'd had the unfortunate first meeting with him a few months before, when the Ministry was just beginning to fall. I don't think he realized just who I was...

I took my hand back and looked at him as though he were the plague. Lip curling distastefully, I managed to spit, "Mr. Aldry. I trust you have a good reason for interrupting my morning?"

His face had turned surprised – flummoxed, even – and he stammered out a halfhearted answer that I pointedly ignored. I continued to the desk in the center of the room and looked down at the figure of Pius Thicknesse, who occupied the plushy leather seat opposite me.

To him, I kindly gave my hand and he leaned forward to politely shake it. There was a dazed look in his eyes, and the effects of the Imperius curse were blatantly obvious to me. I realized that Malfoy was probably the one controlling him at the moment, and wondered why the Dark Lord had given him such an important task...

"It's very nice to meet you, Minister," I claimed, withdrawing my hand and clasping it once again around the edges of my fur cloak, "I trust you'll have a good stay here at the improved Ministry," at this, I let out a deadly smirk, pulling at the pools of Slytherin green in my eyes.

After sending Lucius a glance, which he returned, I bustled from the room as quickly as I had come and snapped my fingers at the lounging men who waited outside.

"You two truly are unnecessary. Hurry up, then, I have one more thing to do," and they clamored up behind me as I stepped into the elevator once again.

After dropping from such an unsightly high point, I felt as though my stomach would forever be lodged in my chest. When we at last stepped out from the compartment, I found myself standing in the Department of Mysteries, and it was really no wonder we had endured such a long fall.

Yaxley would be here somewhere, and so I began walking toward the only door I could currently see. That changed, of course, once I had reached a cross section, because then two more doors were detected. I had never been in this Department. Two or so years ago, Death Eaters had been gathered here to kill Harry Potter and Sirius Black, but unfortunately I was not trusted enough to go on said mission. It would have been nice to see my second cousin once more before he died...

"Black!"

That gravely voice could not have been mistaken. I turned party to see Yaxley himself walking toward me, alone. His robes fluttered out from behind him and in the darkness of the halls, made him look quite daunting. I had a feeling my uneasiness didn't come from his appearance, though, but rather from the parchment he was holding in his hands.

Once he was close enough, he shoved it into my hands and grumbled, "He wants you to meet them _now_, so you'd better leave."

For the life of me, I couldn't understand who I had to meet. After watching Yaxley wordlessly turn around and begin walking back toward the shut door, I also turned. It was easier going up this time, and while in the elevator, I had a distraction from the uneven jolts.

The two thugs behind me were speaking softly to each other about something I cared nothing for, so I quickly tore open the seal and unrolled the parchment. My heart leapt into my throat as I caught sight of the spidery handwriting. I wasted no time reading...and was irate by the time I had finished.

How dare he give me such an inconsequential task? With narrowed, furious eyes, I angrily jammed a finger into a button and about a minute later the compartment had, once again, stopped. The doors opened to a Department I had never been to, nor had I any intention of ever visiting in all my life: the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

* * *

I decided I hated Quidditch pitches. If there was a place any more miserable, I knew not. All I knew was that my expensive black leather stiletto heels were completely ruined. I wouldn't have minded so much if I had been alone. As it were, the two blokes from before were now gone...only to be replaced by Yaxley himself. His presence was really starting to get under my skin. Dolohov was the only other Death Eater, and had a similar job as I did – the same, in fact. We seemed both to be out of favor with the Dark Lord. I supposed Dolohov was being shorted because of his failure to capture the Golden Trio months prior.

Keeping up my appearances as, well, a Death Eater, I quickly formed the trademark scowl and sped up toward the edge of the pitch, eyes latched fiercely to the flying figures above. Stupid, ruddy Quidditch players...

The other man who walked beside us was the manager whom I met with yesterday. He was a shorter man who sort of reminded me of Arthur Weasley, with a short tuft of graying hair upon his balding head. He didn't seem very important, but I decided not to judge – which surprised me, even when I _was _secretly rooting for the good side – and exchanged a glance with Yaxley as we followed his stumbling figure nearer and nearer to the players. The stubby man was certainly trying to impress us...or at least not wet himself in his obvious horror.

"Oi! What's going on here?" came a voice from above. One of the disgusting players landed and eyed us. He had black hair, all shifted to one side in a windblown mess. His azure robes were shuffled around his body, which was sweaty and unkempt due to the practice they were currently undergoing. I watched with haughty eyes as his own slid over each of our figures, finally settling on his manager's.

"Ahem...er...well, this is...I mean to say that –" but apparently the manager really had no idea what he was going to say, so Yaxley kindly stepped in for him, unrolling the bit of parchment that had been stuffed into his signature black robes.

His voice, which sent shivers of disgust down my spine, did the work of explaining the situation well enough. Dolohov and I stood behind him a bit, listening and watching as the entire team gathered around.

"Settle down, _children_," Yaxley spat, brow ruffled in his ever angered mood, "This is a letter from the _new _Minister of Magic. We of the Ministry have been ordered to patrol each practice and game of every category of magical sport, and of every team. And _Puddlemere United _is not exempt from our full scale investigation," he ended, further mocking the team as he sneered out their title.

The black haired man from before seemed to have something to say about this mess. He narrowed his eyes, "What, pray tell, are you investigating?"

I smirked, lips drawing over my pale face in a sneer that would have made my dear old father proud, "That is _private Ministry _information. For us to know...and you to never find out..."

Dolohov smirked as well, putting a hand on my shoulder as though proud of my exaggerated show of importance.

I let my eyes linger on the black haired fiend – I was sure he thought the same about me in that moment – before turning away and sending a glare toward Yaxley.

"Don't you have matters you should be tending to...?" I questioned, voice rough with an annoyance that I most clearly felt in his presence.

He glowered at me and shoved the parchment into my arms, "Watch your tongue, _Black_. I could inform the Dark Lord of your bitterness, and where would you be then? Wallowing with the rest of your silly family..."

I let out a peal of laughter, though it did not reach my eyes, "I'd hardly be calling my family silly. We are a noble breed; a term you cannot even comprehend."

But my family _was _silly. So silly and shallow and not noble or well bred at all. My father had left me because, for God's sake, Voldemort was more important than his own family. My aunts were positively in love with said evil man. The only people I was at all proud of was my half sister and my mother...

I earned another dark glare before Yaxley disapparated in a whirl of black robes. Once he was gone, I turned my scowling face to Dolohov, "Well go on, then. You were assigned the Falmouth Falcons, lucky bastard. Say hello to Flint for me, hmm?"

With that, I pushed the ruddy piece of parchment into his hands and he turned and disapparated.

"Orders are orders, and all that," I said after he was gone, turning back to the grim faces of the Quidditch players, "I'll just sit over there," and jabbed a thumb to a secluded part of the bleachers. No one stopped me as I walked away.

* * *

I think the worst part of spending my day at a Quidditch pitch, muddy and nasty as it was, had to be the stares I kept receiving from the players. They were not stupid, for God's sake. They knew I was a Death Eater; they knew I was the bad guy; they knew they should stay away from me or else I could blast them to kingdom come. Not like it would or anything...I considered myself to be _half _a Death Eater. I definitely didn't have the state of mind to hex people for no reason...not now, anyway. Back when I was at school I would've...but it was different now.

"Erm...enjoying your stay, Miss Black?" the manager stuttered, edging closer to me but keeping his eyes firmly latched onto the practice game going on in the field. Actually, the players were just circling down, which meant practice was just ending, thank God.

Even with my rejuvenated sense of self, I scowled at him and ran a hand through my wildly curly locks, "No. I've other business I should be attending. Not waste my day at a ruddy Quidditch pitch..." I added a curse for good measure, and I think I got my point across to the poor manager.

He jumped a little and chuckled shakily, wringing his hands together in angst, "W-Well, will you b-be here tomorrow...?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and he let out a squeak of panic. A soft smirk played at my lips...I wondered what could possibly be so frightening about my character. Besides, of course, that I was a follower of the darkest wizard ever born.

"I'm afraid not," I answered, standing up and losing the smirk. I quickly dusted off my black robes and sent him a sideways glance, "Perhaps you'd like to introduce me to the team?"

His cheeks were now profusely colored red, and his eyes were shifting from me to the team and back to me again. I raised a brow flippantly and he managed to falter, "O-of c-c-course! Please f-follow me, M-Miss Black..."

He shuffled toward the pitch, hands working together faster than I'd ever seen, and stumbled to a halt before the black haired player. I figured he was probably the captain.

"Rey, Miss B-Black wanted to meet you a-all," the manager said quickly, and then turned to me to begin introducing us, "T-This is Davis Reynolds, Justin Fletcher, Peter Lowell, Oliver Wood, Sam Rockchester, Madeline Cowl, and Eugene Beckett. Everyone, this is Miss Black."

"Belladonna," I interrupted, trying my best to look bored whilst studying the faces of each person. The only appearance I had memorized was Reynolds, and that was because he seemed to have it in for me, "Figured we should be acquainted, at least, since I'll be here once a week for the next few months."

The manager spluttered. His eyes watered in shock and his face reddened again, "A...a few months...?"

My eyes narrowed, and I tightened the clasp of the silver broach holding my cloak together, "Unfortunately. Ministry business, and all that...though I think its because _he's_ mad at me. Otherwise he'd make _Malfoy _do it. Rotten luck, really..."

I noticed the flinches on each of their faces, and took amusement in that. My trademark smirk was crawling up my face and I began walking around the group of players, eyeing each one maliciously and in complete contrast to the attitude I had just portrayed.

"You," I stopped before a blonde haired man. He was taller than me, but then again they all were, "You're Peter Lowell. Hufflepuff graduate, am I right? I think I remember you roaming the halls of Hogwarts back in the day..."

"Least he's not from Slytherin. Then he'd be a smarmy git just like you, right Black?"

I didn't react right away. I turned slowly until I locked eyes with the man who spoke. He had short brown hair that looked soft as anything and the prettiest brown eyes I'd ever seen. His comment didn't actually make me angry at all. In fact, I found myself completely drawn to the sound of his Scottish accent. I tilted my head curiously.

"Hmm...well, I suppose there's some truth to that. Slytherin house _is _known to be vainly narcissistic, isn't it?" I smirked to him and he scowled. I don't think he liked the fact that I blew off his insult. I stepped away from the group and shrugged, lips pulling down into a frown, "There's only been a few people who've ever gotten out of it alive..."

And with those mysterious words, I allowed myself one last smirk and disapparated. I had much to think about...and most of my thoughts revolved around a certain Scottish bloke.

* * *

**Feel free to leave a review on your way out ^-^**


	5. The Order of the Phoenix

**Chapter Five** **The Order Of The Phoenix**

"Belladonna!"

Before I could so much as blink, limbs were being thrown around my neck and waist. I grimaced at the sudden touch.

"Damn it, you two; you'll be the death of me one of these days," I said, dry humor escaping into my voice. Fred and George merely grinned and began tugging me toward the door of their home.

"Come one, Donna-" I flinched again at the sound of my despised nickname, and the other twin – which one was it? – took over the conversation.

"Don't be like that-"

We finally reached the door and I was thankful as it swung closed, shielding me from the strong winds dominating outside. Immediately, a friendly warmth overcame me as I inhaled the welcoming, familiar scent of the Weasley household.

"You need some human contact once in a while."

"Yeah, emphasis on _human_."

The two exchanged grins and I just shook my head, smirking and secretly agreeing with them...at least about the whole 'Death Eater's are not human and never will be' part.

"Oh! Belladonna, dear, I had no idea you'd be coming tonight. Fred, George, stop harassing the poor girl. Why aren't you two at the shop?" the two opened their mouths to answer her, but she cut them off and took hold of my arm as she led me toward the kitchen, "Oh never mind. Belladonna, would you like something to eat or drink? Some tea? Or leftover dinner-?"

"Tea's fine," I told her, effectively stopping her before she continued her very long speech. I cast Fred and George a knowing glance and they chortled silently as they followed us into the cosy kitchen.

I sat at the small rounded table and began patting my hair down. The wild locks were even more untamed than usual due to the dreaded wind and I hated the thought of looking more like my aunt than absolutely necessary.

"Don't know why you even bother," Fred – or George? – murmured, shaking his head as he watched me pat my own, "It's not doing any good, you know."

I scowled at him, "Shut it, George."

The redhead smirked victoriously and claimed, "I'm Fred; _that's _George," he gestured to the redhead sitting beside him, "Honestly, Donna, we've known you for how long, exactly?"

I rolled my eyes and waved him away. Leaning back in my chair, I watched as George – it was definitely _George_, not _Fred _– began telling me about their new joke shop and how great the business has been. I made a mental note to visit said shop as soon as possible. The thought of playing a trick on a helpless Dolohov made me more excited than seeing a certain Scottish man.

I frowned as soon as I thought of him, for one reason. I hadn't a clue why he was in my mind so much lately, but I all started when he'd approached me two days prior on the Quidditch pitch. There was just something about his eyes...

"So what about you, Belladonna?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she set a cup of steaming tea before me. I smiled gratefully at her and added sugar. As I began stirring it in, I answered, "I've been sent on a new mission. I think the Dark Lord is angry at me, otherwise he wouldn't make me do something so juvenile."

The older woman watched me curiously as Fred cut in, "So what's your mission, then?"

"I'm surprised you haven't heard yet," I drawled, taking a sip of the tea, "It's been all over the paper. I've been assigned to a Quidditch team. I'm to spend the next few months watching over them to make sure they aren't...revolting, I suppose. I think it's just punishment, though. Can't imagine how it's doing _Him _any good."

"Professional _Quidditch_? Wow – maybe we should become Death Eaters, Fred – I bet you get free tickets to games as well, right Bella?"

Mrs. Weasley began scolding them for wishing something so bad upon themselves, and I merely sent them a pointed look before continuing as if they hadn't spoken at all.

"It's quite boring, really. Waste of time," I muttered, taking another sip of tea.

"Don't be so pessimistic-"

"And hurry up and tell us which team you were assigned!"

I rolled my eyes at their antics, and felt a familiar annoyance at the thought of the Quidditch team, "I've got a few, actually, but the main one if Puddlemere United. I go there once, sometimes twice, a week. Dolohov also has a similar job, 'cept with the Falcons..."

"Puddlemere United!" both twins exchanged excited looks, and then turned back to me. I felt a bit...uncomfortable by the manic look in their eyes. They grinned, "That's the team Wood went to after graduating! So how is he, then? Go on, Belladonna, tell us! Does he completely despise you for being what you are? Give us all the nitty gritty – this is important drama –"

Mrs. Weasley had long since retreated into a different room. She had sent me a sympathetic glance which I understood all too well and suddenly I was left alone, with two chaotic, talkative twins. The fact that I kept forgetting which one was which only made matters worse.

"Oliver Wood..." I trailed off, face screwed in concentration, "Does he like me? Nope. Not one bit. Not that I care," I added for good measure, figuring I'd at least try to keep my reputation up, "it seems like all he cares about is Quidditch, war or not."

I had expected another verbal assault from my two younger friends, but to my surprise, none came. They merely smirked to each other and shrugged. One of them – I'd be willing to wager it was George – said, "Wood's always been like that. Lives and breathes Quidditch, I swear. Haven't seen him in a while, though; how's he looking?"

I sent them an incredulous glare, "How the hell would I know? I don't know what he looked like before a month ago."

There were answering chortles that made me roll my eyes again, "Darling Donna, don't you have a life at all? Oliver Wood's only become the most well-known Keeper in the current Quidditch handbook. You really don't read the paper, do you?"

I raised a brow at this. I'd never thought of Wood as a famous Quidditch player; I thought of him as being a famous pain in my ass. "Clearly our friend doesn't see it," Fred – I _know _it was Fred! – murmured, casting a glance at his twin. Said redhead grinned and responded, "Shall we get our collection of Oliver Wood articles from our room?"

I shook my head, "You guys are joking - you must be! Please tell me you don't keep a secret shrine for him in your closet or something. I've heard of some pretty strange things in the past, but nothing quite like -"

"...Clearly our friend has a thicker head than normal," George muttered to his brother, and I sent him a glower.

"No, we don't worship our old Gryffindor captain, Belladonna," my glower became a glare at the sound of their condescending tone, "we've been using his pictures as targets, actually –"

"They're for our new inventions. We usually test them out –"

"On Wood. We like to wipe his self-righteous smirk off his face, you see."

I felt myself rolling my eyes before they were even finished speaking, "I don't really think I need to see more of him than I already have to," I muttered, shaking my head, "He's bloody awful, really. Seems to have a habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

Another set of knowing smirks were exchanged before me, and I narrowed my eyes at them.

"He's probably in love with you," Fred – or was it George? I seem to have lost track – wailed, making kissing noises with his lips. His twin didn't help matters much. George grinned and followed suit, clasping his hands together and sighing in a dreamy fashion, "Oh Belladonna, darling, how innocent and naive you are! Can't even tell when love's staring you right in the face! Especially in the form of-"

"Oliver's deep, brown-"

"Chocolate, hazy-"

"Indulgent, muddy-"

"Eyes!" they finally finished, each throwing an arm around the other's shoulders as they began humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar. I identified it as a love song by the Weird Sisters and sent them an especially cold glare that should've made them freeze in their places. Unfortunately, they had already grown immune to my anger.

I stood up and flicked my tea cup toward the sink, not waiting to see if it landed safely or not before gathering my heavy black cloak around my and glowering, "I'm leaving."

The twins watched with amused eyes as I made my way toward the door.

"You seem to have gotten Snape's trademark sneer down, Donna!" called one, and they snickered before the other said, "Too bad you're awful at potion making – you'd fit right into his old classroom with that cloak!"

I sent them one most sign, in the form of a certain finger located on the center of my hand, before shutting the door none too quietly and strolling to the defense lines. I apparated with a twirl, finally keen on getting some sleep.

* * *

There was something that could not be taken away from me, and that was the comforting silence of a warm, soapy bath. It was, perhaps, the only happiness I had gotten all day, save for the first few moments after walking through the Weasley door. I sighed and rested my chin against my hand, sleepily using my wand to turn a page of the book that was floating in front of me as I brought a steaming cup of tea to my lips. This was it, I decided – the only source of happiness I would find.

It was past eight o'clock. I had left the Weasley's about two hours before, and had come home to a cold apartment with little to nothing in the refrigerator. At the time, I hadn't been hungry and so I just forgot about eating, instead cleaning up a bit of the mess around my rooms. I slept here, and ate here, but other than that, I hardly did anything here at all. I usually spent my days either at the Quidditch pitch or at the Weasley's home. Returning to this dreaded flat made me realize how lonely I was. I tried to stay away from it as much as possible.

The clock went off in my living room, and I sighed. Chiming each half an hour, the light bells reverberated around each room. I waved my wand and the book snapped to a close, drifting to a spot on the sink counter. Another wave of my wand sent the teacup there as well. I watched it settle safely with a small clink before tending to myself. I stood, water dripping from my warmed body, and stepped from the tub and onto the cold stone tiles. I did not care that puddles were accumulating beneath my feet; I did not care that my hair was the cause of most of said puddles. I merely sighed and placed my wand next to the teacup and book before turning and manually unplugging the bathtub. I grabbed a towel, running it over my body a few times before beginning to tackle the mangled mess that was my hair, and watched with melancholy as the water disappeared.

I didn't bother covering up as I strode from the bathroom, towel dangling uselessly in one hand. I had only one bathroom, and it wasn't connected to my bedroom at all. Instead, it was located just outside the kitchen, which I had to pass through in order to get to my bed. It was a terrible layout; a muggle architect had to have come up with it. I almost berated myself for thinking that, but then realized it didn't matter. It was probably true, anyway. I scowled and began looking through my drawers for something to wear. I was not tired, so I abandoned my search for nightclothes and instead donned a pair of muggle jeans and a thick sweater, colored a deep scarlet. I threw some socks and sneakers on and left my room feeling even worse than I had when I'd entered.

I knew this feeling – my heart was practically beating a mile a minute and I could not, for the life of me, calm it down. I shut my eyes tightly, face screwed up in concentration, as panic filled my entire being. Doubts began plaguing me, blackened by a layer of truth that I could not escape.

I grabbed a black cloak and flung it around my shoulders. I didn't care that I had just gotten out of the bath, or that my clean clothes would probably be ruined by the time I returned. Without a moments hesitation, I disapparated to the one place I could be truly alone, where the silence wasn't stifling.

* * *

Perhaps if I had only thought about my destination before apparating, things might have turned out differently. I should have known I would not be _truly _alone, because this place is never exactly empty, even at the later hours of the evening. As it were, the one person who occupied the Quidditch pitch was currently at the goals hoops. It was raining so hard that I could just barley make out the flash of blue and yellow robes. I narrowed my eyes and reached for my wand, but realized I had left it at home. I cursed and pulled at my hair, still wet from my bath. I was so tuned out that I hardly realized the player by the goal hoops was not there anymore, but instead landing a few feet away from me, eyes narrowed and squinting to make out my face. I turned toward him, eyes slightly widened, and the player's eyes narrowed even more, this time in suspicion. It was silent, save for the pounding of the rain, and we stared at each other with unreserved awkwardness.

"You know," came his Scottish accent, slightly muddled by the heavy atmosphere, "this pitch is closed right now. How did you break through the enchantment barriers?"

I raised a brow and glanced toward the huge gate doors on the other side of the field before shrugging, "I hadn't realized. Are you sure there are barriers? It was quite easy getting inside."

My voice had lost the bitter quality that I usually used around him. The blank tones seemed to surprise him; he furrowed his brow and dismounted his broom, taking a few steps toward me. We were only a few feet away now, and Oliver Wood didn't seem to know what to do with himself. His hands were tightly grasping his broom, his eyes were taking my figure in – from the muggle clothes to my vulnerable, pale face.

"Are you...?" he couldn't seem to finish his question, and I decided it was probably because I was a Death Eater, and he was actually feeling _concerned_.

My glazed eyes drifted from his safe brown ones and I shrugged, "I'm never...alright..." I realized my hand was still in my hair and I pulled it out, staring at my pale fingers as I did. I had killed people with these hands; a murderer's hands. My lips twitched into a fake smirk, and I tilted my head to the side as I brought my eyes back up to his, "So...Oliver...what are you doing here still? I thought practice ended hours ago...?

I noticed he flinched when I spoke his name so freely, and was strangely affected by it. It should not have surprised me, but still I felt saddened that he was so weary of me. Me – a Death Eater! I supposed that it _really _shouldn't surprise me.

"Ah...just getting some extra practice in," he responded hesitantly, and I nodded blankly. My mind was so strangled that I nearly missed his next words, and had to strain my ears to hear the end of his sentence, "...you play?"

I was surprised at his inquiry. Tilting my head slightly in curiosity, I shrugged, "I used to. I played Keeper during my sixth year. I don't suppose you remember?"

I had to remind myself that this was Oliver Wood, not an old friend. It was just so easy to talk to him; I felt like a human in his presence, and that was a feeling I had not felt in years.

Oliver eyed me, and after a few minutes his lips curved upward into a half hearted smile, "You don't have the body type for Keeper position. I could see you as a Chaser, or a Seeker. Were you any good?"

At this, I laughed. A spark of gentleness alighted in my eyes, and Oliver seemed to have lost his ability to speak for a few moments as he watched me. I shook my head, still smiling, "I was terrible, actually. But I really wanted to play and that position was the only open one. Fortunately for the team, I dropped out in seventh year."

Wood smirked, taking another step forward and saying, "Aye, but Gryffindor still managed a victory over Slytherin!"

He sounded so enthusiastic over his win, even though four years should have blunted the feeling. I felt another smile travel across my lips and Oliver grinned at me, "Fancy playing a game? Try to get the quaffle past me."

I raised a brow, though my smirk did not leave, and said, "In this weather?"

The man before me only shrugged and grabbed my elbow, as though he had forgotten who and what I was. And, during the next few crazy hours, any and all reminders flew from my mind, as well.

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed reading it ^-^ I've been sitting on this one for a while...I actually kinda forgot I had it. I'll probably upload another tomorrow, if I remember, but in the meantime, feel free to leave a review~**

**=3**


	6. Playing With Fire

**Chapter Six**

**Playing With Fire**

* * *

I think everyone around me was under some kind of false sense of happiness, because I couldn't understand how anyone could be so damn happy_. I_ had never been happy, even before my years as a Death Eater. I should have been happy as a child, with a mother who loves me and a step father and sister that could have passed as my own blood family.

My wand was being twisted in my left hand. It felt like an extension of my arm; like it belonged there. It spun lithely in my fingers as though it had a mind of its own.

"Blood hell, woman!" Nymphadora exclaimed loudly, causing many people to turn our way. I cast her a bored look, slightly surprised that she had gone out of her way to talk to me. Especially when her new husband was standing a mere foot away looking more lonely than I.

"I swear, you should have learned to play an instrument or something," my sister chuckled, staring at my hands – which had paused their mindless spinning. I smirked up at her and conveniently left out the small fact that I could play the piano. It was a trait that seemed to be mandatory for all pureblood females, because each that I associated with had at least a basic knowledge for the instrument. I myself was absolutely terrible at it – I had initially only learned because my aunt had been going on about the unkemptness of my poor, pureblood soul, and how it should be rectified as quickly as possible. ...That had been back when I'd moved out of my mother's home during seventh year.

"So what are you doing here?" she asked, when it became obvious that I wasn't going to reply to her previous statement. I glanced at her, and she seemed to realize how rude she sounded. She hurried to amend herself, "I mean, you don't usually come to every meeting – "

I shrugged, and Nymphadora fell silent as she regarded me. Finally, I spoke, though my words sounded groggy and vague, "I just...needed to _do _something."

Because lately I've been doing nothing. I'd apparate here and there during the day. Sometimes I'd go meet with Dolohov and talk about our assignment with him; sometimes I'd go see if Severus was home and annoy him for a while if he agreed to grant me entrance to his home. But later on, after busying myself as much as possible, I'd return home feeling just as awful as I did when I'd left that morning. I do my normal routine – throw something together for dinner, take a shower while it cooked, and eat it in front of the stupid Muggle TV that I should have despised. Then after I was done, I'd try and convince myself that I _did _despise it, because it was a _Muggle product,_ and in the end I'd only realize I was fooling myself and go to bed early. Usually I'd get lost in nightmares during the night, though after five years, I was used to it.

Nymphadora gave me a pitying look and I, in turn, glanced away.

"Maybe...you'd like to come see our new apartment? We're refurnishing it right now, but it's nearly done."

By 'our', I figured she meant Remus and her. I did not miss the look she sent toward her new beau, and felt myself sinking deeper into the biting guilt that was tearing me apart. I knew I could not trample upon anyone else's good mood. I shook my head and gave her a whisper of a smile – the largest one I had managed since I could remember. I was about to say something when I realized the mark on my forearm was itching dreadfully. I had come to understand it's strange powers over the last few years, and knew that the fact that it was itching was not a good thing. I jerked from my seat, enclosed one hand instinctively over my clothed mark, and didn't even remember to send my sister a look as I muttered, "Got to go...owl you later..." before I was off with a loud pop, being my characteristic, mysterious self once again.

* * *

When the Dark Mark was bothering me, it was either because the Dark Lord was experiencing a sudden and immense bout of sadistic pleasure, or a sudden and intense bout of terrifying hatred. Which was why I was a tad bit relieved, for only if the Mark was wiggling was there any cause for alarm...or eminent death. Anyway, another power of the Dark Mark was that it conveniently apparated us Death Eaters to the place we were needed. Which was why, not ten seconds later, I found myself careening forward into a room that I was quite familiar with.

Malfoy Manor was a scary place at night, but in a way, it was even scarier during the day. I knew what I'd be handling during nighttime hours – I knew what was expected of me, and how I should act. But during the afternoon, it was like there was a mask shrouding everything, and I wasn't positive it I should be play the part of the gentle pureblood aristocrat or the callous Death Eater. I tried to find a middle ground and began looking around.

I was in the foyer of the manor, which was in and of itself, absolutely grand. It was like a museum. For anyone else, I'm sure they would have stopped and stared. But I already knew that the gold on the staircase railing was real, and that the paintings above the fireplace were bought straight from the Louvre. My eyes slid over everything as quickly as I could before I realized that there was no one here. That sent up the red flag.

I reached into my cloak and produced my wand, gripping it tightly in my left hand as I stepped forward. My footsteps were muffled as I walked. I'd just gotten to the doorway of the sitting room when something made a grab at my neck, and my wand was being thrown forward in intrinsic deftness.

My breath caught in my throat when I realized that I had my wand pressed against my uncle's throat, and that he was leering at me from the mere three inches of space between us. A scowl began dominating my face, but it washed away as quickly as it had come when a cold voice spoke up.

"You see? She's as quick as a snake. A fitful bride, for any man," he claimed, drifting his gaze over me taut figure with a raised brow, "Though I suppose Belladonna could use some refining still. That's where you come in."

My eyes snapped to the man whom he was speaking to. By now, Rodolphus had stepped back, and my wand fell uselessly to my side, fingers still clutching it tightly.

The man was sitting very straight. His eyes were turned toward me, studying me from my shiny black shoes to my tangled mess of black curls. He was pale, and blonde. I wondered if he was related to the Malfoys somehow, for he seemed to have the same frigid eyes as they did.

"Come into the room, Belladonna," the Dark Lord drawled, and I did. I stepped toward the pair, only just noticing that there were a few others in the room as well. Bellatrix was standing beside her husband, glowering at me. There were a few others, but that was it. My face remained impassive as I stopped beside Voldemort.

"This is Silvius Couteau. He intends to marry you."

Shock immediately bolted through my system. I turned to stare at Silvius, and decided that any man would love to be wed to him. He was handsome, with high cheeks and a straight nose. But his eyes...his eyes were cold, as though there was an ever present barrier between him and everyone else. His lips curved into a sneer.

"I suppose you'll do," he said curtly, and turned away from me to address Voldemort. I did not like how he brushed me off, but refrained from doing anything violent to the man. After all, I was not very surprised about my newest predicament. Bellatrix married very soon after she graduated from Hogwarts, as did Narcissus and my own mother. Pureblood women got married, and that was final. I decided that it didn't matter that much anyway – I was going to die soon, so who cared whom I was married to? As long as he was handsome and left me alone, I could live. And it seemed as though Silvius had both those traits, for he was now conversing with the Dark Lord and ignoring me completely.

"Silvius, you say?" I callously interrupted, and inwardly smirked as the man straightened his back and sent his glacier eyes to glare at me. I walked toward him, circling his chair and studying him up and down, just as he had done to me, "Well...I suppose you'll do as well."

My snarky comment made him scowl, but the Dark Lord didn't seem very angry – for which I was relieved. Voldemort chuckled, and at the sound of it, Silvius calmed.

"Yes, well, a bit refining will do her good," he sniffed, and turned away. I was immediately reminded of a small child who didn't get his way, and had to fight down a smirk as it invaded my face.

This Silvius would be fun to play around with, but I had no intention of letting him become more than just the face of a man who happened to live with me. After all, being a husband and a lover were two completely different things – two things that I didn't think I'd achieve before I died.

* * *

"Silvius Couteau, hmm?" Severus asked, standing beside me on the Quidditch pitch. Players were zooming around above our heads, quaffles were being thrown here and there, and overall it was a rather distracting and dangerous area to be having a private conversation.

But since I hadn't spoken to my old professor in weeks, he decided to drop by and go over some last minute plans with me. They all centered around the distant yet frightening annual Ministry Ball that was coming up. Granted, it was still months away, but it was such a large event that it needed to be addressed and planned out ahead of time. And for Severus Snape, one could never be too early.

"Mmhmm. He's the most stuck up prat I've ever met. Well...maybe besides Lucious Malfoy," I added for good measure, and leaned back on my spot on the bleachers. My face was transposed in an all too familiar scowl that Severus knew well.

Snape made a noise and I turned my scowling face in his direction. He glared right back at me, "I remember hearing that surname before. His family is from Southern France, and he's a very influential man. A very bad choice to cross paths with him. Be careful."

I waved his warning off with one lazy right hand and sighed. My gaze drifted to the flying yellow and blue streaks, and landed on one particular man who was guarding the goal hoops with an intensity that made my head spin.

"Whatever," I muttered, turning away from Oliver before anyone could see.

I had a feeling Snape already knew of my short infatuation with the Quidditch player, though, because he followed my eyes and sneered, "Don't tell me you – "

I interrupted him before he could make any false and presumptuous comments, "Anyway. The wedding's scheduled about half a year from now. I figure it'll be long enough. The battle that's surely coming will hopefully take place before then."

We both knew where the end of my sentence was going. I meant to say 'hopefully I'll be dead by then'. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes.

There was a sudden shout coming from above us. Something about a foul. I glanced up in curiosity and Severus stiffened as players began flying to the ground to talk it out.

"I don't know how you can stand this," he said, and I looked at him from the corner of my eye, "it's bad enough to see all these old students and knowing that they recognize me."

I grinned then, but it was far from joyous as a grin should have been. Turning my spiteful gaze toward Severus, I let out a soft laugh that sounded more like a cackle, "Feeling nostalgic, Severus?"

He merely glared fitfully at me, and I once again disregarded him to say, "It's not so bad. It takes my mind off things."

It went quiet once again, and we both stopped to watch as the captain – that Reynolds guy – began instructing the beaters to use some strange feint I've never heard of. They were back up into the air before I could blink.

"You'll promise me something," I said suddenly, turning my gaze to Severus. It seemed to catch him off guard, for discomfort slid across his face for a split moment before going back to its normal sneer.

"I want you to promise me that if you get the chance during the battle, you'll end my life."

I don't think I'd seen Severus' face more shocked. He turned to stare at me in surprise and this time, didn't even manage to regain his composure, "...I'm not going to promise you anything, Black."

He made to walk away, but I lurched from my seat and grabbed the sleeve of his cloak. I had a feeling I looked rather out of character, for my face was pleading and wishful and even a little hurt. Some of that terribly hidden pain leaked out into my expression, and Severus turned to stare at me, a little miffed.

"_Please_, Severus."

He promptly turned away, and now he looked like he was fighting with himself. He slowly responded, "You're making a scene, Belladonna. Don't blow your cover."

I glanced around and noticed that I was, indeed, making a scene. There were a few players staring at us in shock – probably from the pitiful expression on my face. I immediately stiffened and pulled back, letting my hands drop uselessly at my side.

"There is no guarantee that I'll even be alive during the Battle, much less that I'll even see you at all. You can't possibly ask me something like that," he softly told me, and I was taken aback at his gentle tone. I took a step back, face hardening into its usual cold mask, and nodded.

Severus didn't say another word as he apparated away. I was left alone on the pitch, with those bloody Quidditch players flying above me and completely over looking the pain that was eating away at my heart.

* * *

**HP 7, pt 2 comes out soon~ =D I'm very excited, especially because Oliver's apparantly going to be in this one ^_^**

**Please let me know what you think of the fanfic - Personally, I enjoy reading fanfics with the main character as a Slytherin, or some such thing. So I guess my way of writing is a tad bit dramatic but ah well...~ Review if you'd like!**


	7. Gryffindor Hospitality

**Chapter Seven**

**Gryffindor Hospitality**

* * *

By far, the worst aspect of a Slytherin is their sneer. I hated when people sneered at me, and I seemed to unconsciously do it right back at them. _Every _Slytherin had the skill mastered by the time they had graduated Hogwarts – most, by the time they had _entered _it.

I put every malevolent feeling I had into the sneer I was now sending my cousin, and he returned it just as spitefully.

"You're a poor excuse for a Death Eater," I spat, and Draco's eyes narrowed even more at my words. I had a feeling that he didn't care whether he was even a Death Eater or not. The entire Malfoy family spent most of their days shirking around the Dark Lord and trying not to get into trouble. Lucius could hardly be in the same room as Voldemort, let alone carry out any plan he might be entrusted to. Though, these days, not many things were entrusted to the Malfoys anyway.

"Like I give a damn," he growled, confirming my thoughts. If I hadn't been playing the part of the loyal follower, I'd give him a pat on the back. Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance to do any such thing.

My sneer became more pronounced. I gripped my wand tightly in my hands, and noticed how Draco was doing the same thing.

"A word of advice, dear cousin," I softly said, malice coating each word, "at least_ try _to get on His good side. You might find yourself in a terrible situation if you don't."

I hadn't any doubt that Draco would disregard my words. He did not disappoint me, "You would know, right, Black? Since you seem so adamant in keeping on his good side now, after that incident two years ago?"

No one knew about that incident, save for Severus, the Malfoys, and myself. My mother and half sister also knew, of course, but they didn't count within the Death Eater ranks. Nonetheless, my eyes darkened considerably at the mention of my failed mission. It was still quite fresh in my memory, and it pained me to think of it. I glared at Draco, "Well then, I suppose we're even, seeing as we both have a knack for leaving things unfinished."

The obvious jibe at Draco's own failed mission, barely a year before, seemed to send him into spiraling waves of hatred. He directed his wand at me and scowled deeply, "You'll pay for that, you filthy traitor."

I raised a brow calmly, "I hope in the future, you'll come up with better names for me. A traitor, I am not," I claimed, and my conscience screamed at the lie.

I couldn't say anything more, because at that moment, Draco decided to launch a spell at me, "Ascendio!"

I dodged the spell and it bounced onto the tilted floor, disappearing safely. Appalled that he would actually use magic against me, and very aware that I had more experience than him, I glowered sharply and began to reason with him.

But Draco was having none of it. With fire in his eyes, he flicked his wand at me again, this time yelling, "Confringo!"

I did _not _like that jinx – at _all_. Back in my days at Hogwarts, I'd had a bad run in with it and another Slytherin. Let's just say that loyalty, even within the Slytherin ranks, was not the top of my priorities. I seethed, watching the spell hit the wall behind me. The wallpaper burst into flames, and almost immediately quelled as I shot a small counterjinx at it. After that was taken care of, I turned toward Draco with an angered expression on my face.

Drawing my wand toward him, I muttered, "Reducto."

The hole that should have nailed Draco in the stomach was instead shot at the wall when Draco side stepped it. He twisted his wrist and immediately retaliated, "Stupefy!"

I was not able to move fast enough, and the spell caught my upper left arm and threw me back a couple of feet. I was back, ready to fight, in a few seconds. But it was still enough victory on Draco's part, and his self-righteous sneer had me crawling in hatred.

"Incendio," Draco shot at me, before I could make another move, and this time, I was hit in the stomach. The center of my robes crippled in the intense heat, but my face remained impassive when my skin similarly curled. It didn't get very deep, but it still hurt enough to make pain flash through my eyes.

"Flipendo," I drawled, smirking when the spell hit its mark and Draco went flying through the air. I decided that I should really leave. I was clearly not in my right mind, for Draco had done quite a number on me. The burn on my stomach was quickly becoming more and more dire, and I knew that if I didn't tend to it soon, it would only grow. I muttered one last jinx, quite pleased to see Draco put in his place even for a moment, and apparated to the place I couldn't seem to get enough of. Blasted Quidditch.

* * *

This time, when I apparated onto the Quidditch Pitch, I was stopped by a strong charm. Before I could be splinched, I called off my apparation and maneuvered around the hard spell. I landed in a pool of mud on the center of the pitch, and groaned in distaste as it got into my face and hair.

I groaned again when, as I tried to get up, the spell festering around my stomach deepened. I choked, closed my eyes tightly in pain, and gripped my stomach – in which blood was remorsefully spurting from.

"What do we have here?" a sudden voice asked thoughtfully, but turned quite panicked when my predicament became obvious, "_Bloody hell_...are you alright?"

I coughed and dug around for my wand. I could not find it – it wasn't in it's usual place in my cloak. My wound was quickly getting worse; the blood loss was increasing. I had to stop it now.

"...Wand..." I managed to whisper, hand reaching for the man's legs. My fingers curled around his jeans, and he knelt down to look at me closer. I was taken aback when I realized it was Oliver Wood staring at me. I vaguely decided that these late night Quidditch pitch meetings had to stop.

I understood the look in his eyes – it was distrust. Because if he lent me his wand, he would go against everything he believed in.

"Please!" I cried, lurching forward at a sudden and unexpected bout of increasing pain. That seemed to do it. Oliver hurriedly snatched at his wand and handed it to me without a seconds hesitation.

I immediately reacted, pointing the borrowed wand at my stomach and murmuring a countercurse to stop the growing spell. No words could explain the relief I felt.

My breath was still coming out in gasps, however, and I felt weaker than ever. I sighed, and closed my eyes, falling forward against my will. I was shocked to find myself in Oliver's arms rather than face down in the dirt. Before I could so much as thank him, I lost all feeling, and stumbled into a pitch of utter blankness.

* * *

When I opened my eyes next, it was bright. The first thing I noticed was that I was covered in a warm, thick blanket...that happened to be bright red. The color sparked a memory, though I could not decipher it. I turned my face slightly as my eyes focused.

I saw that I was in a room that was completely new to me. The walls were a blank white, and there were clothes laying haphazardly over the floor. When my eyes caught the sight of a pair of blue boxers, my breath caught. Whose house was I in, exactly? And why was I still dressed in my clothes from the night before? And what was with this hideous red blanket? (I was never a fan of red; it reminded me of Slytherin's rival house.)

I sat up slowly and gingerly, only remembering that I was wounded before I passed out, and nothing more. The blanket dropped off my shoulders, and I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The other pillow looked untouched, and as I was dressed, I surmised that I slept alone during the night. But that still didn't explain where I was...or who brought me here.

I was able to move around well enough. My stomach was sore, but otherwise fine. My shoulder was also aching, and I remembered I had been hit there by a spell. My cousin's face loomed up in my mind, and memories suddenly broke free from their hidden confinements.

Oh...well isn't this just great... I gently pushed the door of the bedroom opened and peered out into the room beyond the threshold. Directly behind the door, there was a living room. It was also messy – there were books thrown carelessly on a coffee table, and a few empty mugs resting on the rug. There were two couches, each a brown color, which plenty of blankets and pillows on each. A bookshelf was beside a large fireplace, laden with an endless array of hardcover tomes. I squinted my eyes to see the title of one. It was about Quidditch, and immediately my fears were confirmed.

I was, most definitely, in the house of Oliver Wood.

The sound of a chair against the floor drew me back to reality. With wide, caught eyes, I watched as the figure of what must have been Oliver himself get up from his kitchen chair and put his used dishes into the sink. I hadn't noticed the connecting kitchen before, but now felt grateful that he hadn't been facing me nor seen me. I thought about going back into the room and pretending to sleep, but before I could really consider it, Oliver turned around and spotted me. Immediately, the air thickened.

I shuffled from the room, passing the two couches of the living room and gliding right into the kitchen. My eyes wavered over everything except Oliver, but I didn't have much time to examine the new room before Oliver spoke, "You're awake," he crossed his arms, and I glanced at him.

I expected to see him scowling at me – it was an expression people normally used when addressing me. But I was surprised to find he was only staring impassionedly, emotions well hidden beneath his mask. I raised a brow, "Congratulations. What a great observation, really – I applaud you."

It was a defense mechanism, my spite. It spewed from my lips before I could stop it and I immediately felt guilty when Oliver recoiled. Before I could apologize, he spoke again, this time with more purpose, "Want to explain why you were bleeding all over the Quidditch pitch last night?"

I flinched a bit, and ran a hand through my hair as a way to calm down. I wasn't angry, or even hurt. It was more surprise, for I still couldn't get over the fact that I was in Oliver's apartment. I thought he would surely leave me there. Anyone else would have.

"...I'd rather not, actually," I murmured, for the reason seemed a bit silly now that the anger of the situation had melted.

He did not speak again. His eyes were taking me in now – from my muddy black cloak, undone a bit and hanging lopsidedly off my right shoulder, to my frizzy, grimy hair that was still coated in mud. He shrugged, pushed off from the counter, and cleared his throat in discomfort, "Erm...if you'd like...there's a shower at the end of that hall," he gestured in its general direction, but I didn't turn to see. With wide eyes, I gaped at him. I thought that, after realizing I wasn't dead, he'd kick me out of his apartment.

He surprised me further when he turned to his refrigerator, "I'll make you some eggs and toast. It'll be ready when you get out. Towels are in the cabinet beside the sink."

I wasn't sure what to do, so I just turned mechanically and began walking toward the bathroom, shocked look still adorning my face.

When I reached the bathroom, I gently closed the room and glanced in the mirror. I scowled at my reflection (for I looked absolutely hideous with all that mud caked into my curls) and immediately turned to the shower. As I waited for it to heat, I began stripping my clothes. They fell to the floor in a heap of wrinkles and I was happy to be rid of them. I glanced down to study the scab on my stomach, and was rather glad to find it was nearly completely closed up. I stepped into the shower and began washing the dirt from my weakened body.

I had to admit that I was very uncomfortable, standing naked in a shower that wasn't my own – a shower that belonged to someone I should have hated, and probably would have had the circumstances been different. But I really couldn't find anything except thankfulness as I silently watched Oliver in the kitchen. He hadn't realized I was in the living room, which was probably why he seemed so peaceful as he waited for the eggs to be done.

After a few minutes, I announced my arrival by stepping up to the counter, and immediately the peacefulness in Oliver's expression disappeared. He stared, as I sat down, with a plain and untouched face, as though unwilling to show any emotion to me at all. We stared at each other, until I moved my eyes from his and smiled a ghostly smile.

"I was fighting, with my cousin," I confirmed softly, twisting a strand of my clean hair between my fingers and looking anywhere but him. I had never treated someone like this – which this undeniable sense of gratefulness and respect, "Draco has never understood priorities, I was warning him to play things cool."

Oliver raised a brow, but did not look at me as he shifted the eggs and toast onto my plate. He slid it over to me, and tossed me a fork. I caught it lithely and he asked, "Draco Malfoy is your cousin?"

I glanced up at him to see him staring at me closely. I nodded slowly, and began to eat, "Yes. Are you surprised?"

Oliver chuckled humorlessly and nodded, "Yeah, I am. I'm not close to any Slytherin Pureblood families – I don't know how they work."

I shrugged, unconcerned, and answered, "They're all very tightly interwoven. It's not uncommon for siblings to marry. That's why the Malfoy's are family – Narcissa Malfoy is my aunt; my mother's sister."

The man before me did not speak for a few minutes. After a while, he chanced at look at me, and rested his head on his palm as he slouched against the counter, "Who's your mum, then? And your da?"

My eyes turned sharp as I moved them to him. It went silent for a few seconds, before I slowly and gingerly responded, "...My mother is Andromeda Black."

I did not mention my father, for he was dead to me. Being locked up in Azkaban Prison wasn't exactly a nice place to be – especially since he's been there most of my life. Oliver seemed to notice that I didn't speak of my father, but he didn't comment any further. Instead, he nodded and said languidly, "You can leave whenever you'd like."

Though my breakfast was only half finished, I nodded and stood up, taking his words to heart as I fixed my cloak. He watched with questioning eyes, and I scowled at the black fabric, explaining scornfully, "It's standardized dress for Death Eaters," he flinched at the blatant reminded of who I was, and I smirked slightly, "I think it's to scare people away. Make us seem less human."

I sent Oliver a thoughtful look and tilted my head, "Thank you...for helping me. No one's..." I cleared my throat, feeling awkward, "...No one's ever put me first."

And before he could respond, I walked to his door, swung it open, and left his apartment with a red face and incredulous thoughts. It had to be the first time I had _ever _thanked someone; even my family.

* * *

**I had the most tiring day =\ My car broke down on the highway and it took two hours for me to get home...which made me miss an appointment I had **

**Hope I'm not taking this too slow for some of you - it generally takes me a while before I get into the romance. But the first kiss is acoming up soon~ (Hopefully that redeems my slowness and lack of reviews o.O)**


	8. Interesting Happenings

**Chapter Eight**

**Interesting Happenings**

* * *

Oliver Wood wasn't sure what to think of his life. He had always wondered why he was chosen for something so grand. Playing professional Quidditch had always, _always _been his dream. So why couldn't he focus?

"Move more to the left, Wood!" Reynolds called as he flew passed in a blur of yellow and blue robes. Oliver nodded, a little put off that he had to be _told_ how to catch a _Quaffle_. (It rarely ever happened, just as Oliver rarely let anything through his unbeatable guard.)

Sitting on his broom, at the top of the Puddlemere Quidditch Pitch, made Oliver feel like royalty. The wind was blowing through his short hair and relieving his face of the heat and sweat. He darted his hand out and snatched a Quaffle from mid-air before tossing it back to Lowell. Peter Lowell caught it with an ease only a Chaser could, and began flying toward the opposite end of the Pitch, where the other Chaser – Samuel Rochchester – was keeping the other goal posts. It was a simple practice game; no different than any other. It was only missing one thing, but that was what seemed to be the catalyst for Oliver's unrest.

Down in the vibrant yellow and blue Puddlemere bleachers, sat a man with dark robes. _'To scare people away...make us seem less human...'_ Belladonna whispered in his mind, and he had to grind his teeth together in an attempt to focus on another oncoming Quaffle.

The fact that there was a Death Eater in the bleachers was not what made Oliver squeamish. The fact that it was not _Belladonna Black _was what caused his agitation.

She had the audacity to show up here, merely a week before, bleeding all over his precious pitch, and even passed out in his arms! It was hard enough to deal with himself after she had left – for he hadn't realized how civilized they both were being until she wasn't standing right in front of him. But now, after seven whole days of not seeing her, she sends her buddy Dolohov to 'watch' over the practice. Oliver scoffed; as though any of these Quidditch players were really dabbling in _anything _besides Quidditch. Oliver certainly wasn't.

"Alright! On the ground!" Reynolds shouted, and his teammates all began flurrying toward the grassy pitch. When Oliver landed, Reynolds turned his fierce gray eyes to him, and Oliver shivered.

"Everything alright, Wood? You seemed a little preoccupied," his captain asked. Oliver hung his head a bit, ashamed of being the one to stop practice. It had only ever happened once before.

"Sorry. Just can't stop thinking about..." as he trailed off, Oliver realized he wasn't entirely sure what he couldn't stop thinking about. Was it Belladonna? Or Dolohov? Or everything going on in the wizarding world regarding his old friend Harry Potter? Reynolds nodded slowly and patted his back.

"No worries, mate. Why don't you just take the rest of the day off."

Oliver snapped his head back up and met Reynolds eyes, a set look of determination adorning his edgy features, "No, that's alright. I'd never forgive myself."

The captain studied him closely, eyes narrowed in apprehension, and finally nodded, "Alright then. But if you keep daydreaming, I'm sending you home. No sense having a Keeper who isn't in his mind set."

There were a few laughs and pats of the back, and minutes later, Oliver found himself once again guarding the goalposts. This time, he spent more time worrying about the Quaffle than about a Death Eater who didn't know the meaning of 'Loyalty'.

* * *

**Belladonna's POV**

I was having a horrible day. Mostly because, here in Southern France, it was pouring. Another reason might have been that my mother was, once again, dotting on me. I hated it when she dotted.

"Would you like more tea, Bella?" she asked, voice light and happy as she looked at me.

I found myself trying to smile – though I think it came out more as a grimace – and nodded, "Please."

She poured more of the steaming liquid into my cup and began stirring in the precise amount of sugar and cream I liked. A moment later, she was handing it to me, and I was bringing it up to my lips and taking a sip.

"Have you seen Nymphadora lately?" she asked, absentmindedly adding another ingredient to a shopping list before her. I shook my head, shrugged, and took another sip.

"About two weeks ago," I told her, and said nothing more on the matter. I watched as she wrote in her neat, curvy writing, another word.

She nodded, and glanced up at me. Her eyes filled with worry, "Are you sure I can't buy you anything while I'm out? Some sweets? Or-"

"I'm fine," I assured her, meeting her eyes to confirm my words.

She sighed, and leaned forward on her hands, "I wish I could make you some dinner. Won't you stay a few more hours? It's been so lonely since Ted..."

_Since Ted died,_ I finished in my mind. It had only been a few months prior, but remained fresh on each of our memories. After all, Ted had been the one to bring my mother from her pit of darkness. He had shown her how to be happy, and started a new family with her. He had saved her, and I had learned to be grateful for him. I had even, once or twice, thought of him as a father figure. It hurt me as well, to see my step father leave this earth.

"...I'm sorry," I whispered, eyes staring into my teacup. I hated that I had to leave so soon, but I'd already spent the night here and I did have to go. If I stayed any longer, someone might get suspicious.

My mother only nodded, kindly taking in my haggard appearance and sighing. She stood up, and I did as well, ready to wish her good luck and leave. But she surprised me by bringing me into a warm, loving hug. Immediately, I curled into her warmth and closed my eyes. I felt more like a baby than ever, but I reveled in the intimate, simple feeling and felt my mother kiss my hair gingerly.

She pulled back to look me in the eye, face gentle and soft, "Some day, a man will fall in love with you, and make you the happiest woman alive. God only knows how much you deserve that."

I was taken aback by her words. I smiled, a true smile, and kissed her cheek before pulling out of her embrace, "I'll see you later, mum."

She nodded. Before I apparated away, I thought I saw tears forming in her eyes. But I brushed it away and focused on her words.

Though I often wondered what it was like to be loved, I doubted I'd ever truly feel it. Someone might have found Andromeda Black, and saved her, but that was a dream that rarely ever came to be. To even wish for something as strong as what my mother had felt like a sin. For I wasn't meant to be loved, and would never be seen as anything but a Death Eater. And that was probably for the best.

* * *

Dolohov seemed extremely grateful when I showed up later that day to relieve him of his job. I sighed as he giddily apparated away, and took his previous seat as I watched the Puddlemere team head off to the locker rooms. It seemed as though I would be able to leave very soon, but there was something I wanted to do first. Eyes searching, I tried desperately to find the man who had helped me that night. Unfortunately, though I sat there for fifteen minutes, Oliver Wood could not be found. Reynolds did, however, walk over to where I was sitting. With a face that clearly spoke of his discomfort, he claimed, "Oliver's gone home. He left a bit before you came."

I narrowed my eyes at him and snapped, "What makes you think I want to know where Wood is?"

Reynolds shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with my spiteful tone, "Just thought you might be the reason he was so antsy today. Couldn't keep his eyes away from Dolohov. I think he was worried about you."

I stared at him, surprised, and all bitterness washed from my face. Oliver was worried? About me?

"Is that so hard to believe?" Reynolds asked suddenly, and I looked up at him. He raised a brow, "Wood's a nice bloke; he's loyal through and through. So naturally he told us how you came onto the Quidditch pitch last week and he helped you out."

I was absolutely speechless. I couldn't understand why he had told them. I had been weak and powerless and vulnerable, and he _told _them about it! Fury quickly consumed my veins.

"Don't be like that," Reynolds chuckled, and I glared at him, "I made him tell us, really. I couldn't let my star Keeper get into some bothersome rut, now could I? Anyway, though, try to find some other place to bleed all over next time. I can't have my Quidditch Pitch tainted by your pure blood."

My fingers twitched, desperately wanting to reach for my wand and blow his brains out with an Unforgivable Curse. Oh, how relieving that would be – the perfect way to get out my anger. My lips curled up into a sick, sadistic grin, and I slowly reached into my cloak.

"Didn't you mother ever tell you not to mess with a Death Eater?" I murmured evilly, and grinned manically when Reynold swallowed convulsively and took a step back.

"So what shall it be, then?" I asked, face shifting into a terribly excited expression, "The Cruciatus Curse? I could make your skin feel like a thousand little daggers. Or maybe I could use the Imperius Curse and make you kill yourself. That could be very satisfying as well..."

Reynolds glared at me in disgust, "You're a sick – "

"Belladonna?" a surprised voice cut through the air, and I jerked my eyes toward the voice. I was shocked to find Oliver standing there, staring at the wand in my hand. He furrowed his brow, and moved his gaze to his captain.

"I...er...forgot something in the locker rooms," he told Reynolds, but didn't move to retrieve it. He was now staring at my face, closely studying my cold pallor. I lowered my arm, but kept my wand firmly in my hand.

"Right," Reynolds finally said, sending me one last glare before turning away, "I've business to attend."

Once he was gone, I spoke, "I thought you had something to get?"

Oliver shuffled a bit, uncomfortable with the sudden thickness of the atmosphere. Without a word, he walked over to me, grabbed my arm, and – ignoring my shocked expression – apparated away.

A few seconds later, we stumbled into a kitchen I never thought I'd see again. I caught myself on the counter and turned to stare at Oliver, who picking himself off the ground.

"I'd rather you didn't threaten my captain," Oliver told me, dusting himself off and turning to the kettle. He swished his wand and a fire immediately started below it.

I narrowed my eyes at him, "He insulted me."

Oliver sighed and looked at me, eyes full of an emotion I only ever saw in my mother and sister, "Look, I don't know what made you so bitter, but I'd like to have a civilized conversation with you, for _once_."

I was ultimately thrown off guard – _again _– as I stared at him in confusion, "...Why? And why did you bring me here? You shouldn't treat me like...like – "

Like what? Like a human? I guessed that would have sufficed. I didn't _feel _like a human, so I definitely shouldn't be treated like one. Oliver stared at me, and I slowly, cautiously rose my own green orbs to meet him.

I wasn't sure how long we stared at each other, but it didn't seem real. All I knew was that, in the warmth of his brown eyes, I felt like I wasn't a bad person. I felt as though I didn't have blood on my hands; as though I didn't have a mark on my forearm; as though I wasn't universally known as a Death Eater. Finally, as the kettle went off, our gazes snapped away from each other in a flurry of confusion, embarrassment, and coldness. I watched as Oliver manually turned off the kettle and silently got two teacups out of his cupboard. He poured the hot water into both, and then stuck a tea bag in each. Finally, he focused on me again, but this time, I kept my eyes trained to the tiled floor and remained quiet.

"You know...I never would have thought I'd be harboring a Death Eater in my apartment," Oliver murmured, trying to crack a joke. I did not smile – the feeling of happiness was immune to me. But I did glance up at him and give him a sheepish look, which seemed to melt away the terrible frigid air.

"In answer to your question," he softly said, fiddling with the two teacups as I watched him curiously, "I actually have no idea why I brought you here. I tend to do things out of brashness. I think it's the old Gryffindor spirit shining through."

His words had my lips twitching into a ghostly smile. I nodded slowly, resting my chin on the palm of my hand and murmuring, "I suppose...it's not so bad. I was just surprised is all. I didn't think I'd be coming back here."

I wondered why I was talking so much – it was very unlike me, especially in the presence of a rival. But Oliver was acting very maturely and putting our differences away, and I supposed I could as well. Even if just for an hour.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Oliver removed the tea bags and sauntered to his refrigerator, "Cream? Sugar? Or plain?"

I told him my preference and he fixed my tea, slowly pushing it toward me before getting his own ready. I was suddenly reminded of the visit to my mother's house. It was hard to believe it had only been that morning since I'd left. And here I was, sitting with a man who was acting like we were old chumps. I vaguely wondered if Oliver did this often. He must have plenty of company since he was a famous Quidditch star. I suddenly began to feel small; I straightened my posture in reaction to my surprising emotions.

"Something wrong?" Oliver asked, and I snapped my gaze to him. I hadn't realized he had been watching me. I slowly shook my head, and breathed in the scent of tea.

It was an unconscious reaction, I supposed. I had been poisoned before – it sort of came with the job. When I realized that Oliver hadn't put anything in my tea, I slowly took a sip and allowed my eyes to finally meet his. This time, there was only distrust in our gazes.

"You're wondering why you brought me here," I told him, face impassioned as his eyes widened, "You wish you'd left me at the pitch because you feel awkward in my presence."

He tilted his head and bit and I smirked at him, putting my tea down and saying, "Don't worry – I don't mind. It's not really that uncommon. I'll leave you to your thoughts."

But when I made to get up, Oliver reached across the counter and grabbed my wrist, stopping me from moving. His hand enclosed around a good portion of my arm and I flinched at the unexpected contact. Couldn't he have gripped my _other _arm?

He seemed to realize his mistake and his eyes darkened. Slowly, he let go, and relaxed back into his previous position. But I sat very still, staring at my arm in shock, and then turning to stare at Oliver. The mark just beneath my cloak wriggled in discomfort.

"You know," he whispered, eyes scourging my face intensely, "you don't act much like a Death Eater."

I stared at him, still in complete shock, and took a deep, shaky breath. My fingers fiddled with my crumpled fabric around my wrist and I breathed, in an almost pleading tone, "I am a human first."

His eyes held something I couldn't understand. It was like he could see everything about me in that one look. My past, my present, and my future, and everything in between. I felt naked, and without any secrets, and completely tame.

In a sudden, fright-filled movement, I jumped from the counter and accidentally knocked the chair over. It fell onto the floor with a loud thump and I twisted in shock as Oliver grabbed me again, this time by the other arm.

"Let me go," I whispered hastily, clutching my mark with shaky fingers, "Please let me go!"

But Oliver did not. He did something completely unexpected instead. As he crushed me to his chest, tangling his fingers into me hair to ensure my inability to escape, I felt my willpower drain. I crumpled in his arms, burying my face into his shoulder and inhaling his masculine scent as though it were the reason for my existence.

His arms wrapped around me, enveloping me in a strong, undiluted sense of ease and comfort. He breathed into my hair, and whispered, "...I don't understand you at all."

It took me a few minutes to get up the strength to pull back, even just a little, and I stared at him, "...Maybe...you aren't meant to."

And Oliver took my face in his hands, and did something else completely unexpected, but no less desired. He kissed me.

* * *

**Reviewwww pweaasseee =3 I shall be better at writing chapters if I have some sort of motivation .**


	9. A Life Better Left Untouched

**Chapter Nine**** | A Life Better Left Untouched**

* * *

A few things happened at once after Oliver's lips touched mine, and I wasn't sure if they were good or not. I mean, usually when guys kissed me, or when I kissed guys – I didn't usually give them much time to react, seeing as it was strictly for amusement purposes – I didn't feel quite so...faint of breath.

I hadn't even realized my fingers were desperately trying to catch the short strands of Oliver's hair until I came to my senses and pulled away. His lips certainly were invigorating – I wondered if any other women thought so. And well, that thought completely ruined the mood, and I once again spiraled into the endless reminder of my past, and my future.

I was once again taken aback when I realized just how intensely Oliver was staring at me. The rest of my body began to regain feeling, and I also realized how tightly Oliver was holding me. His arms were wrapped around me with such force that I was lost in another hopeless dream that took me a few seconds to pull away from.

When I did pull away from Oliver a moment later, his face was unreadable. I had a feeling that mine was as well. I wanted to desperately reach up and kiss him again, if only to console myself that it was real, and not just a figment of my imagination. Before I could allow myself the pleasure, however, Oliver pulled away fully and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I...I'm sorry," he muttered, shaking his head as though surprised, "I have no idea where that came from. I mean...you're a Death Eater!" he chuckled at this, as though he considered his actions to be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done.

Though the fact shouldn't have bothered me, I felt myself slowly lowering from the satisfaction of the kiss. I was quickly landing right back to my normal mask of evil and bitterness. I barked out a laugh, though it sounded more hollow than ever, and agreed, "That's right. How silly of you to forget. I suppose that should be a lesson to both of us, hmm?"

I was already turning away from him, and I had no idea what emotions he might be showing. I didn't really want to know, actually, for the idea of being here another moment made me sick to my stomach,

"What lesson would that be?" Oliver wondered, voice completely void of any feeling.

I jerked my chin toward him and smirked an awful, Slytherin smirk that sent shivers down his spine. Clutching the edges of my cloak, I prepared to apparate away, but before I did, I spat coldly, "Try not to get in my way, Wood, and I won't get in yours."

And in a manner that I seemed to have mastered, I disappeared before either of us could say anything else.

Later that night, while I laid on my couch and tried focusing on a new charms book, my mind couldn't stop remembering Oliver's grip around my waist...and the sudden but oh so mesmerizing touch of our lips...and the way his eyes held a trust I never thought I'd see directed at me.

And, try as I might to put the moment behind me and convince myself that it had all been a mistake, just as Oliver claimed, I kept going back. I kept remembering the words my mother had spoken – the ones about how a man would one day fall in love with me and give me what I deserve. And though it went against every single moral and belief I'd ingrained within me, I found myself craving Oliver Wood's lips. That was what scared me the most.

* * *

Three weeks came and went. The winter chill was still very dense in the air, and it was no surprise why. February was hardly close to spring. I had tried to forget about Oliver Wood altogether during the past few weeks, but it was proving to be very difficult as of late. Voldemort was angry at me, for some unknown reason, and was forcing me to look into other aspects of Sports, alongside my 'job' on the Quidditch Pitch. I myself liked to call it 'babysitting'.

I knew I looked worse than ever, because somehow I had done something wrong. Only nights before Bellatrix had snapped, and we shared a duel that lasted no more than fifteen minutes. But it was enough to drain me of my energy and my normally hasty smirk. My lips, instead, stayed down in a self-depreciating scowl as I sat, hunched over, on the Quidditch pitch. Nowadays, there was rarely anything to console me. Which was why I was taking especial time to write out the letter before me.

It was a strangely sunny day, with no mud or remnants of rain at all. There were hardly any clouds in the sky, though the winds were chill and whipped around me regardless. The black cloak that was forever snatched around my figure flew in every direction as I pored over my letter. A bottle of ink sat beside me on the bleachers, and my quill was poised just above the parchment as I thought of words to write.

I hadn't seen my sister in many days, and since there was a sudden increase in things to do, I hadn't time to attend any Order meetings at all, though they've become more frequent lately. Nymphadora had already attempted to get a hold of me, and I needed to tell her about the strict security that was consuming my life in case she dug herself a ditch. Trying to reach me now would be liked sentencing yourself to a lifelong prison cell in Azkaban.

"Whatcha got there?" came a voice, sudden and unexpected by my ear.

I flinched and hurried to fold up my letter, hiding it from prying eyes. When the letter was safely pressed against my chest, I turned to look at the person who had addressed me. I was shocked to find Oliver Wood leaning against the bleacher railing, arms crossed lazily over his stomach as he gazed at me. There was no particular emotion within his eyes; a languid wall of brown was all I saw within them. It wasn't like the other day, all those weeks ago, when I could see everything he was thinking.

"It's nothing," I spat, eyes narrowing in near genuine anger. Uptight was a good word to describe my current state. What with the new onslaught of jobs I had to undertake, and the upcoming battle I knew would happen, I was nothing short of agitated. It seemed as though I hadn't enough time to do everything I wished.

Oliver raised a brow at me – pointed and doubting. He gently pushed off from his perch on the railing and shrugged. His voice remained uncaring, "Not that it bothers me," he began, face lapsing into unnerving dispassion, "but if you're writing to one of your fellow cult members, I'd hope it isn't about the team."

My eyes narrowed even more, but I didn't look at him. Head turned almost painfully away, I tried to think of words to retaliate. On any normal day, those words would fly from my tongue without any thought...but today it was different. I struggled to breathe, feeling lightheaded and unsure; my fingers gripped my letter tightly and possessively, as though suspiciously waiting for Oliver to snatch it from my hands.

"I..." trailing off, I saw Oliver's brow raise a little higher. I cleared my throat, suddenly standing. Without any other explanation, I began walking away, letter now wrinkling due to the tight grip my hand was exerting upon it.

Surprised, Oliver watched me walk away with the slightest bit of worry in his eyes. Just before I disapparated, he swore he saw one single sentence scrawled in strange, delicate cursive.

' – _be fine. Don't return this message, Nymphadora; they're watching me.'_

* * *

**Oliver's POV**

He wasn't sure what to think. Standing before this small, simple house made him feel rather foolish. _'Will they remember me...?'_

Somehow, Oliver doubted they would...but then again, he was a professional Quidditch player. It would be impossible to forget about him...right? With a slightly nervous hand, he knocked upon the door.

Immediately, a few things happened at once. Bouts of yelling erupted within the house – quite plausible to Oliver's sensitive ears. Or maybe it was just because Molly was screaming so very loudly...

The door burst open, and two heads of bright red hair nearly blinded him. Oliver could only just make out the faces of his old team mates before they all but pounced on him, tackling him to the ground with excited shouts.

"Oliver's here!" someone – George? – shouted, grinning roguishly. He was the first to get off, and nudged his brother from Oliver's shocked figure before helping the poor man up, "What brings you to our humble abode, Mr. Wood, oh great Professional Quidditch Keeper?"

Oliver raised a brow – he should have known these two would blow up his title. Fred (he thought) grinned as well, and immediately Oliver was overtaken by their twinned expressions.

"I...ah, well – " he was cut off by the figure of Molly Weasley as she came ambling from the house.

"Oliver, dear! It's been years –_ years! _Come in, come in, and make yourself at home," she all but pushed the Quidditch player inside, and then continued speaking, "Are you hungry? Oh, you look wonderful – all the Quidditch is doing you well!" at this, the twins began rolling their sleeves back and imitating Oliver's fit muscles. Molly clacked her tongue at them, "Oh stop it, you two."

Before Oliver could protest, a steaming bowl of soup was placed before him, along with a spoon and napkin. As Molly rushed to get a tall glass of milk, the boy spluttered out a weak, "Oh, no, that's quite alright...oh, why not...thank you, Mrs. Weasley...lovely, really, great hospitality..."

The twins were chuckling by the end of his confused drabble. Oliver tucked into his meal, shoveling a spoonful of the soup into his mouth. Before he could even swallow, however, Fred jumped up and wondered, "Why _are _you here, Oliver? Just wondering, of course," he grinned, and George finished, "And if it's not too much trouble, would you mind giving us your autograph?"

Fred chortled, "We figure it might get us a good lot of money."

Molly shook her head in an almost hopeless way and sighed, "An explanation might help, I suppose...unless you just wanted to visit?" she asked, sitting down at the table along with Fred and George.

Oliver didn't ask where the other Weasleys were. He knew that Ron was gone, out with Harry and Hermione in the run. He knew that Percy had long since put the family behind his job. Oliver didn't want to resurrect painful memories – for he was sure he would, if he inquired.

He cleared his throat, "Actually...it's about Tonks."

Brows were raised. Confused, Molly leaned forward and gestured for him to go on. Oliver cleared his throat again, uncomfortable, and asked, "Her full name...it's Nymphadora, isn't it?"

He wasn't well adept with the Order of the Phoenix, or any of it's members, but he was sure this woman was a part of it. Having never have met her, Oliver felt rather silly asking about her, but his curiosity was so great that he couldn't help it.

"Well, yes, it is," Molly responded, still unsure about Oliver's questions, "Why are you asking?"

Rather than answering her own question, Oliver asked another. It was burning on his tongue, and in a quick manner, he blurted, "She has a sister...?"

He hadn't meant to voice his words as such, but it did the job well enough. The suspicious glances cast between the Weasleys certainly had him on edge. George spoke up, "That's quite an inquiry, Oliver. Tell us why you want to know."

Oliver sighed. His fingers tangled in his short hair. Casting his eyes directly into Molly's, he responded, "I know Belladonna personally, Mrs. Weasley. You must understand, I'm not trying to scrounge around her history or anything. I'm just worried...she doesn't seem...like a – "

"Death Eater?" Fred supplied suddenly. His eyes had a dazed look in them, but he seemed to be very in tune with the situation; he sat straight, fingers clutched together, and seemed to be very mature. It was rather unnerving to Oliver.

"That's because she's not...actually," Fred continued, lips curving upward into a mischievous smirk. Molly sent him a warning glance, but Fred merely continued, "What I want to know...is why you're so worried about her, _Oliver_."

The boy cleared his throat once more. His heart hammered in his chest, and his thoughts swirled together in confusion and misunderstanding. Why _did _he care about her, and why _was _he so worried? Oliver couldn't think up an answer; he merely stared hard into the wood of the table, until finally he gazed up into the bright eyes of his friends, "I'm not sure. I just have a feeling that she's in trouble, that's all."

The hard stares being directed at Oliver made his palms sweaty. Fingers clutched at the sides of his jeans, he swallowed thickly and watched as the twins exchanged looks. There was something in their eyes that had Oliver on edge. Shifting uncomfortably, he wondered, "Well? Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

A tiny chortle escaped George's – or was it Fred's? – lips. His eyes sparkled in amusement, "Oliver, mate, why don't you ask her _yourself?"_

And, gesturing to the door, Oliver followed his gaze and nearly jumped in shock at the woman standing in the threshold, cold and gaunt and staring with wide, unseeing eyes directly at him.

Her lips moved soundlessly, and for a moment, Oliver thought it might be some wandless spell that rolled from her tongue. But after a moment, when nothing happened, Oliver realized that nothing was terribly wrong...except maybe that a Death Eater was standing in Molly Weasley's house.

Finally, after a long, drawn out moment of utter silence, Belladonna's lips curled into a sneer that was very familiar to Oliver. Her hand moved to clutch onto the edge of the door, and her other hand was positioned in a strange place at her stomach. Her fingers curled into her black cloak, pulled so tightly around her that it looked like death itself had claimed her body.

Surprisingly, Belladonna did not address Oliver. She merely sent him a glare of the utmost hatred before wobbling into the kitchen and collapsing into one of the many chairs. It was then that Oliver realized something was wrong.

"Belladonna, dear, you're hurt!" Molly exclaimed, bustling around the table to hover above her. She waved her hand and murmured a soft, cold 'I'm fine', before pressing her elbow to the table and gazing up at the woman.

"I won't ask what he's doing here," she sneered, not even bothering to give him a look, "But I suppose you'll fix up his memories so that he won't remember this unfortunate meeting, hmm?"

Oliver didn't appreciate being spoken about when he was sitting right beside her. He opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by a strangely solemn Fred, "So...What's going on in the Ministry?"

At the question, her eyes took on a frightfully dark look. It was different from her normal glare, which could have frozen any living thing within a mile's radius. There was a wilted sort of sadness in her expression, almost as though she was carrying a merciless burden that she couldn't seem to shake; she had tried to, but after all her useless attempts, she had shriveled up inside herself and didn't bother anymore.

With a shrug of her thin shoulders, Belladonna answered, "They're getting ready." Oliver was about to ask what it was they were getting ready _for_, but Belladonna beat him to it. In a weary voice, as though all her time had run out on her, she finished, "You know...for the battle."

Whatever she was speaking of, it surely sounded bad. Oliver watched the facial expressions of those around him. If their grave countenances were of any help, he was right in thinking this battle would not be a crusade.

"So soon...?" Molly whispered, lips thinning as she stared wildly at Belladonna's face. The other woman seemed more withdrawn than Mrs. Weasley, as though she had long since come to terms with the shortness that they had. Though the shock was great, neither lingered on that topic for long. Molly quickly wondered, "And what about you, dear? How are you feeling?"

Belladonna moved her hand to flick away an invading strand of hair, "...Don't worry about me. I'm more concerned with Potter. You've seen the article in the paper, haven't you?"

This time, Oliver knew exactly what was being said. The news involving the most recent location of The Boy Who Lived was far from trivial. After Bathilda Bagshot was found dead in her house – in the same neighborhood that Potter was born in – there was no doubt that he'd taken a short visit. Oliver was just curious on why Belladonna was so concerned about this information. (Shouldn't she be a little more angry about the fact that he got away? And what in hell's _name _was she even doing here _at all?)_

Molly Weasley nodded slowly, fear rising up upon her features, "Yes, yes, of course. Oh, I do hope they're all ok..."

Belladonna didn't say anything to that. She merely stared hard at the wall opposing her blankly. Oliver was just beginning to filter out the strange information he'd received when she suddenly jumped up, discomfort written about her face.

"I must go," her hand was clutched to her forearm in a similar way, and Oliver felt dread overcoming him.

Mrs. Weasley stood as well, two hand on the table as though to support her weary self, and nodded. It was all happening so quickly, and Oliver wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. He stood up just as suddenly as her, "Wait!"

He held in a shiver when Belladonna's darkened eyes found him. Her face was ridden in annoyance, and it was only intensified as the curly curtain of her hair fell into her face. Her voice was just as cold as her eyes were, "The Dark Lord waits for no one, _Wood_."

With a flurry or robes, Belladonna was out the door before Oliver could say 'Quidditch'.

* * *

**First of all, I'm so dreadfully sorry for not updating like a good little writer D=**

**Second, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, new and old. I haven't been on FF in months and hadn't seen ANY of the feedback whatsoever. When I checked in today I was like 'PEOPLELIKEMEYAYY!' - my smile was huge~! So thank you so much for reviewing! I've just come back from seeing Harry Potter in the theater - I hadn't seen it yet cause I don't like the crowds :3 I can promise now, since I'm very inspired after seeing the movie, that more chapters will be coming out very soon ^^**

**My bleedingheartbeatingneedsyou: Quite a long username. Figure since I seem to be remarking on them I might as well say that XD Anyway, your review had me laughing. Belliver is brilliant! (Sort of reminds me of Justin Beiber and all his crazy names, but ah well~) Let me know if you come up with anything else!**

**MistressWiggle: Love the username. But more importantly, love the reviews! You've been the source of my inspiration for Chapter 9 and made me smile quite a lot throughout your many reviews. I've read and re-read your feedback and I have to say that you've got some good points. I'll have to have to make Belladonna suck it up some more, hmm? After all, I can't have a suicidal OC! D= And I guess I never really explained the family thing, so I'll try my best right now. (Cause I don't know how I'll fit it into the story )**

**Belladonna's mother is Andromeda Black - or, as of now, Tonks. Her father is in Azkaban Prison and is a Death Eater. He's never mentioned in the books and therefore is a character of my own making. Andromeda had Belladonna back before Ted Tonks was a part of her life, which means she was still associated with the Darker side. Her relationship with Belladonna's father was more or less a fling. She hadn't meant to get pregnant and he certainly had no desire to become a father. The mother and daughter were immediately shut out of his life once he found out.**

**As for Nymphadora, I believe I mentioned that she was Belladonna's half sister in the first or second chapter? Obviously Nymphadora is Ted Tonks and Andromeda's daughter, which makes her Belladonna's half-sister. Belladonna is in no way related to Ted Tonks, but she thinks of him as the father she never had. (Of course, in this story, Ted Tonks has already been killed.) I hope that sums it up for all of you - I know many of you were confused as to her real father. He's still alive and will probably come back before I finish it! (Which, of course, I've every intention of doing~)**

**Feel free to drop a review on your way out =D**


	10. Please read this boring Author's Note XD

Before I go on, I'll just warn you all that this is an Author's Note and unfortunately not a new chapter :\

I know it's been forever since I last updated and I honestly don't have an excuse. All I can say is that I seem to have lost inspiration with it. The other day I was reading through the story and I sorta want to do some more with it...though if I do, it'll probably take me a while because I'm currently balancing 2 Hunger Game fictions at the moment which are taking up most of my free time.

So I decided to post this Author's Note to try and get some feedback from any of you who are still interested in the story (If any of you are still around, that is XD) I definitely feel like I'm talking to myself right now so it'd be VERY much appreciated it you leave a review/PM me with any suggestions you might have regarding the story.

If I do continue, I'll try to get a chapter out every week or two since it's summer now and I have more time, but I honestly can't make any promises right now. I'm off to college this fall and keeping ahead in my school work will be my top priority.

So what do you guys think? Do you want me to continue or should I put it on permanent hiatus?

If you leave me a review I'll love you forever~ ^o^


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